The Subtle War
by lagenerale
Summary: Voldemort has been vanquished – but a war still remains. The Ministry passes the Dangerous Magical Creatures and Security Act of 1998, with harsh consequences for werewolves. Hermione, determined to help Remus Lupin, plans a false marriage. [Post-DH. Mostly canon.]
1. The Umbridge-Rand Act

A/N: Hello, all! Despite having loved Harry Potter since I was young, this is the first piece of fanfic I've ever completed for the series. This story is AU in that Remus survives, and there was never any romantic relationship between Hermione and Ron, nor between Remus and Tonks. And a few other details, which should emerge as the story continues.

Disclaimer: All of these wonderful characters, and the events of Harry Potter, are the invention of the wonderful Ms. Rowling. They are not my own, and I make no profit from this piece of fanfiction.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Umbridge-Rand Act**

Hermione didn't hear about it until a memo floated over to her desk about midday, just before lunchtime. She didn't open it immediately; she finished writing her own memo first, addressing the comparative regulation of potions ingredients in Germany, before putting down her quill. Then she stretched and swallowed a yawn before unfolding the note. She saw, with interest, that it was from Arthur Weasley. But that interest soon became disbelief when she turned to the body of the memo.

_Hermione, _

_I've just heard that Umbridge and Rand have just pushed through a major piece of legislation. It sounds like it will have grave consequences for werewolves. Two of my colleagues found out this morning. (They don't know any werewolves, you see.)_

_You might be able to get more information, but then again, if this note is the first you're hearing of the matter, maybe not. Still, you may find something._

_Arthur._

A thrill of dread stole through her. In the Post-War reconstruction of the Ministry, Dolores Umbridge had found an ally in Nyrian Rand, a wizard who shared her intolerant views. There had been rumours that the two of them were holed up preparing some new bigotry, a law to banish those non-Wizards they found so distasteful.

The battle may have been won, Voldemort may have been vanquished, but for some, the war was still being fought. And this, Hermione thought, this meant the war was still being fought for all. Discrimination remained. It was not just Umbridge and Rand. Prejudice ran rampant and, importantly, unchallenged, in the Wizarding world.

Hermione stood, thinking. The Ministry had kept the news from her and from Arthur. No doubt they knew of the Order, and they knew (and greatly disapproved) of Remus' friendship with its members. But she could find someone who knew. Someone she wasn't close with, someone the Ministry wouldn't think she spoke to.

She took the elevator up one floor and walked down the corridor until she reached the Magical Laws department and its customarily deserted front desk. Picking up the singular small piece of parchment that lay on the desk, she tapped it once and said, quietly, "Geminus Pickette." It swiftly rolled itself up and shot like a dart down the internal corridor, where she knew it would find Geminus' office.

A moment later, the parchment whizzed back to the front desk and flopped down. She unfurled it and read: _One Minute._

A minute later Geminus appeared. He was a tall, plump wizard and he smiled at the sight of her, and she let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Somehow she had thought perhaps he'd been told not to speak with her.

"How're you, Hermione?"

"Fine, thanks," she said, returning his smile. "How are you?"

"I'm great. What do you need me for?"

Hermione glanced around. "Could we use your office?"

When she was seated across from Geminus, his work desk between them, Hermione discreetly pointed her wand at the door and thought, _muffliato_. Then she said, "I was writing a memo to Johnson and I just wanted to ask if you'd heard anything about a new law."

"Well, there are lots of new laws," Geminus said. "It's the nature of my work, you see."

She hesitated, unsure whether to read the joke as deliberate evasion. "Are there any particularly important ones? Only I heard there might be one and I don't want any project we're working on to become redundant."

The wizard frowned slightly. "How new are we talking?"

"Um – quite new. Perhaps today, or yesterday."

Geminus said, "Well, they've just submitted the new Umbridge-Rand Bill for voting this morning…" and Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"Oh? That might be it." She added, casually, "What's it about?"

"Dangerous Magical Creatures, I think." Geminus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And, actually, I do think they told us not to discuss it yet. Sorry, Hermione."

"Oh, that's alright." Hermione forced a smile. "If that's the law, it doesn't affect our project at all."

Back at her own desk, she wrote,

_Dear Arthur,_

_What you heard is true. It was submitted to the chamber this morning. They've probably voted it through by now._

_Hermione._

She didn't have to wait long before she was confronted by confirmation of the Act. Special Ministry editions of the _Daily Prophet_ were available in thick stacks in the entrance hall when she left work at six. On the cover page was Fenrir Greyback, snarling and straining at his shackles, and the headline read, rather simply: _MINISTRY PASSES NEW SECURITY ACT._ Hermione picked up a copy and scanned it: the author of the article had written a rosy puff piece detailing the protection the new law would provide to the Wizarding community, especially the children. When she had read the phrase "feral werewolves" for the third time, she had to stop, her stomach turning. They had to tell Remus. They had to find out what the law said.

"Hermione," came a voice. She jumped slightly, turning; it was Percy Weasley. "Dad says to come to the Burrow tonight."

"Oh," she said, puzzled. Although he had long since made up with his family, Percy did not live at the Burrow these days.

Percy added, in a low voice, "Remus'll be there."

When they arrived Remus was already there, as were Harry and Ginny, Ron, Arthur, and Molly. They were all sitting at the dining table. There was an envelope and several pages of official-looking parchment in front of Harry. Remus looked tired and slightly ill. Hermione felt a rush of anger at Umbridge and the Ministry even as she greeted them.

"I've just got the letter," Remus said, quietly, when she and Percy had sat down. Harry pushed the letter over to Hermione.

It read:

_To Werewolves of the British Isles:_

_The Ministry of Magic has today passed the Dangerous Magical Creatures and Security Act 1998 ('DMCSA'), also known as the Umbridge-Rand Act. This Act contains mandates that affect your legal status. You must read the entire Act. Nonetheless, we attach below the most relevant sections._

**_DANGEROUS MAGICAL CREATURES AND SECURITY ACT 1998_**

_Introductory Text._

_The purpose of this Act is to protect Wizarding society and especially underage Wizards and Witches from the real perils posed by a multitude of Dangerous Magical Creatures, including but not limited to Werewolves, Vampires, and Giants._

_[ … ]_

**_PART 1 Containment and Management of Dangerous Magical Creatures_**

_s. 1 General._

_(1) All Dangerous Magical Creatures will be contained in specialised internment facilities until such time as the Ministry deems each individual Creature safe to be returned to the community._

_(2) All Dangerous Magical Creatures must give up any magical items including but not limited to wands, regardless of the source of the items._

_(3) Refusal by any Dangerous Magical Creature or Wizard or Witch to comply with any Ministry orders issued pursuant to this Act shall result in a mandatory minimum sentence of ten years in Azkaban._

_[ … ]_

**_PART 2 Regulation of Dangerous Magical Creatures Proven Responsible_**

_s. 17 Werewolves._

_(1) A Werewolf may be shown to be responsible upon satisfying the Ministry with evidence of one of the following:_

_(a) That the Werewolf has at least one biological child who has been in his sole or joint care and custody for a minimum of five (5) years, or the entire lifetime of the child, whichever is the lower;_

_(b) That the Werewolf is presently married to a Witch or Wizard; or_

_(c) That the Werewolf has been continuously in the employ of a Witch or Wizard for a period of not less than three (3) years._

_(2) The terms Witch or Wizard denotes a member of the Wizarding community who does not fall under any of the categories of Dangerous Magical Creatures._

_[ … ]_

_This Act is to come into effect on January 1, 1999._

_Notwithstanding the above, by Special Decree of the Minister for Magic, the Ministry is hereby vested with the power to begin investigations into any Dangerous Magical Creature to ensure their compliance with this Act._

_It is so declared._

Hermione looked up from the parchment, a sickened, nauseous feeling settling on her. Beside her, Harry's expression was furious, and Ron was looking down at the letter with a deep scowl.

"They're mad," Ron said, finally. "It's more than mad – it's evil."


	2. Acting the Heroine

**Chapter 2: Acting the Heroine**

"This wouldn't have happened if Kingsley were Minister."

"Kingsley could stop this, can't he?" asked Ginny, her eyes bright with something fierce. "He's got a lot of support among the Aurors."

"Yeah, he has," Harry joined in. "They've not forgotten all that he did at the last Battle. They've not forgotten what you did, either, Remus." Remus and Kingsley had been key figures in defeating the Death Eaters at the Battle of Hogwarts, the last stand where Harry had finally felled Voldemort.

Arthur massaged the bridge of his nose. "I've just been to see Kingsley at St. Mungo's. They think it'll be another several months before he's strong enough to resume work. By that time the Act will have come into effect."

* * *

At work the next day, Hermione received a note from Harry. He had written to Hagrid, who had also received a letter. _We reckon he should be alright, though, because he's been "continuously in the employ" of Hogwarts for far longer than three years. The Ministry might still give him some grief because they're bigoted gits and because he has a record with dangerous creatures and in Azkaban, but they likely won't be able to lock him up._

It was a small relief among the larger shock that the Act had brought. Hermione returned to worrying about Remus. If she was honest with herself, she felt guilty. She had been pursuing the rights of house-elves while working at the Ministry, but she'd completely neglected the rights of so many others. She immediately started planning a campaign in her head, a new organisation, an action plan…

But when she told Ginny all of her new plans by owl, the response was altogether unexpected, and made Hermione feel yet more guilt for not thinking of it.

_Hermione, what you sent me is great, but I heard Mum and Dad saying that what's key right now is finding someone willing to marry Remus so he won't be taken away and his wand confiscated. Under the statute, marriage is probably his only out – he doesn't have any children, and he's hardly been employed by a Witch or Wizard, except Hogwarts, and even then only for a year. _

_Also, Dad says, because Remus was involved with Fenrir Greyback and his clan, even if it was for the Order, he'll likely receive even harsher treatment._ _The Ministry and most of the public haven't forgotten the terrible attacks Greyback and his pack carried out under Voldemort._

And who else is able – and knows Remus well enough to be willing – to marry him? Hermione thought.

She could think of no one else but herself.

* * *

Hermione arranged to meet Remus at the Three Broomsticks the same evening. She thought meeting somewhere in public would make for a lighter setting than Grimmauld Place, and a less restrictive setting than her own apartment. And perhaps a little bit of alcohol wouldn't hurt.

The butterbeer and firewhiskey she'd ordered for the two of them had just arrived when she saw Remus coming into the pub. He saw her and nodded, approaching, but just before he reached her someone else sat down beside her.

"You're early, darling," said the someone, kissing her on the cheek. "I thought we were meeting later at the restaurant. I've just got here with some of my mates from work."

She had completely forgotten: she had a second date with him tonight. It was Andrew O'Connor, a handsome, older Gringotts wizard she'd met last month at one of the Bank's events with Fleur.

"Andrew!" she squeaked. "Oh, um, I…I was just meeting someone else here…"

Andrew raised his dark eyebrows, a smile pulling at one corner of his lips. A mouth she'd kissed quite happily at the end of their last date. "Another date? I know we're hardly exclusive yet, but there's really no need to rub it in my face, you know."

"It's not a man. I mean, he _is_ a _man_, but it's not…I'm not…" Hermione trailed off, glancing at Remus, who had stopped a few feet away. Where he had looked sombre before, there now seemed to be an amused smile playing across his mouth. It didn't help that he looked very much like a man, and not a bad-looking one to boot. He was wearing the newer robes that Harry and Molly Weasley had bundled on him last Christmas. What on earth could she say? Certainly not _"This is Remus Lupin; he's my ex-Professor and I'm about to sort of propose to him"._

But Andrew had noticed her glance behind him, and he turned, too, catching sight of Remus at the bar. "Hello," Andrew said. "Are you the mysterious stranger here to steal my girl away?"

It was Remus' turn to raise his eyebrows. Hermione felt herself flushing. "Andrew," she said.

"No, no, I like to meet my competitors." Andrew held out a hand, exuding the self-assurance that Hermione had fallen for. Remus shook it, his expression still one of mild amusement. "Andrew O'Connor. And who are you?"

"Remus Lupin," said Remus. Hermione was staring at the spectacle they were making for her. Remus was slightly taller than Andrew, and certainly looked the less well-groomed of the two. Where Andrew's dark head was immaculately gelled and parted, Remus' hair had a distinctly professor-ish look to it, civilised yet always a little tousled. They were men of the same generation, she realised; Andrew had probably been one or two years behind Remus at Hogwarts.

And, indeed, Andrew paused. "Remus _Lupin_?" He stared for a bit. "You were Head Boy!"

"I wasn't," Remus said. "That was…it was James Potter."

"Oh, yeah," Andrew said. "You were something, though. Prefect, maybe. I remember you. Not to mention you were at the Battle of Hogwarts. I remember reading it in the _Prophet_."

Remus nodded. Andrew turned back to Hermione and said, "This is hardly fair!", and laughed.

Hermione, who had gathered herself, said, "Actually, Andrew, I'm really, terribly sorry, but I have something urgent to do with the Ministry to discuss with Remus. Could we possibly rearrange?"

Once Remus agreed to the plan, though, she thought, it would be rather difficult to rearrange.

"I _am_ sorry to intrude," Remus said. "But Hermione has assured me it is an urgent matter."

When Andrew had returned to his friends, Remus slid in beside Hermione and she passed him the neglected firewhiskey. He smiled at her and took a sip. Hermione could feel her butterbeer warm in her stomach, and for a moment she wanted to just sit here and enjoy the time with Remus. She rarely saw him, what with work at the Ministry and with the Order, and regretted that they weren't closer friends. But for now she had to tell him the plan.

After she had finished explaining, Remus said, coldly,

"No."

In her head she'd played out a few possibilities. They had included refusals, of course, but none of this variety. In her head Remus had said _No, I can't do this,_ quietly, or even in irritation. The icy tone took her by surprise.

She said, "What? Remus?"

And Remus refused again. He was adamant and sad and angry and – she realised this last – proud. He accused her of "acting the heroine." It was something she had accused Harry of. She was stopped short. For the first time – and so quickly after broaching this marriage plan – she had seen the body of the iceberg, seen beyond Remus' controlled, calm, surface.

"I'm _not_ '_acting the heroine_'," she said, hotly. "I don't think you need _saving_. I just want to help."

"And I don't need your help," Remus told her. She tried to catch his eyes but he looked away quickly. "Frankly, Hermione, I don't want it."


	3. Birthmarks and Body Language

**Chapter 3: Birthmarks and Body Language**

Remus had already had an inkling of why Hermione wanted to speak to him, and had prepared himself. He was ready when she said the words, _so I think we ought to get married, Remus_. He was ready with firm words to put a stop to this dangerous idea at once.

He was also prepared for Hermione's typical persistence, but still didn't succeed in shaking her off. She followed him out of the pub and into the street and, much to his annoyance, managed to grab hold of him when he apparated back to Grimmauld Place. They were now in the kitchen, and it didn't seem like Hermione had plans to leave anytime soon. In fact, she had positioned herself carefully between Remus and the kitchen doorway. He was beginning to regret meeting her at all. It might have been a better choice to simply avoid her at all costs.

Remus took a deep breath and tried again. "You're young––"

"––Oh, don't you start with that––"

"––You're young, and bright, and have a future," Remus finished, firmly, talking over her. "Don't waste all that on me. I couldn't bear it."

"I would not be wasting anything," Hermione said hotly. She was glaring at him with all the zeal of youth. "It's not like it'll affect anything! Honestly, all we have to do is get married."

"You don't know what you're saying! You'd be wasting your _life_ with me!" said Remus, harshly. "It _will_ affect things. It already has! You had a date tonight, didn't you? Don't you want to see him again? To have a normal relationship? To get on with your life, as you should?"

There was a short pause. Then Hermione said, "Actually, no. I don't _really_ want to see him again. I mean, I don't really want to see anyone right now. I just want you to let me do this."

"You're––"

"Let me finish," interrupted Hermione, speaking coolly now. Remus had to be impressed by how quickly she had checked her temper, by this display of control in one so young. Of course, she had almost always been the cool head, hadn't she, between Harry and Ron? The two boys had inherited many great traits from their respective parents, Remus thought, but a cool head was not one of them.

Hermione was speaking again. "Remus, I care for you. I want to do this because I care for you. We _all_ care for you. You can't twist this into my being some martyr, Remus. I'm not sacrificing anything for you! I'm really not!"

Remus gave her a bitter laugh. "I can believe that you all care for me, but please don't lie about it not being a sacrifice."

Hermione's eyes had softened when he found them once more.

"Alright, Remus, I'll admit it. I shouldn't've said otherwise. It will be a sacrifice of sorts, of course, but it's one I'm glad to make. And don't forget - it'll be a sacrifice for you, too, having to marry me." She gave him a cautious smile with the weak joke, and seemed encouraged when Remus smiled back despite himself.

"Hermione, I'm glad we can speak sensibly about this." He took a seat at the kitchen table. Hermione didn't, perhaps still not trusting him not to bolt for the door. "Please hear me out. I am twice your age, I'm a werewolf, and I have a bad record with the Ministry. Nothing good could come of your marrying me. I appreciate your offer, I really do."

"You're less than twice my age, really," she said. "Not that it even matters. You're a werewolf, sure. I'm muggle-born. I'm from England. It doesn't matter. As for your bad record with the Ministry, this is _exactly_ why I couldn't bear losing you to them. Why none of us could. After what you've done for the Order…none of us could bear to lose another…another…"

She did not finish, but she did not need to. Remus found himself thinking of Sirius, Alastor Moody, Fred Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Albus Dumbledore…thinking back, too, to James and Lily. There was a long pause.

"Please think about it," said Hermione in a soft voice. She sat, finally, in the chair beside his. Remus looked at her hand where it rested beside his on the table. Hers was small, fine; his, nowhere near as delicate, a pale scar running across the back of his wrist. Even as he thought this, Hermione reached out and gripped his wrist. "Please, Remus."

He said, heavily, slowly, "I must thank you, then, Hermione."

Her grip tightened, her gaze brightening slowly as she stared at him. "Are you saying yes, Remus?"

He gave her a reluctant smile, amused by the sheer delight in her brown eyes. "I suppose I am."

Hermione was beaming at him now. She let go of his wrist.

"Thank you, again," Remus said. "I wish I didn't have to ask this of you."

"You? Ask this of me?" She sighed. "You never would."

"If we don't manage to repeal the Act," said Remus, "If it goes on too long, we must separate. No matter what the consequences for me."

Her smile faded a bit.

"No matter what," he repeated.

"Fine," she said. Then, smilingly, "You do know you'd have the right to divorce me at any time? It hasn't got to be mutual. You haven't got to catch me cheating, or anything."

He appreciated her ability to joke, but found he had to add, thoughtfully, "You could go on seeing other fellows, couldn't you, even once we're married?"

Hermione eyed him shrewdly. "Yes, I could."

But he had the distinct feeling she had said it only to make him feel better.

* * *

"We'll need to be married before the new year, because that's when the Act comes into effect. Arthur understands from his contacts that the Ministry'll begin inspection in September. That's two weeks from now. I was thinking we should just be engaged for now, because it might look suspicious to suddenly get married just after the Act passed. And if we delay the wedding until November or December, we'll have time to actually plan it and invite guests and things like that."

They were sitting in the living room of Hermione's flat. Hermione took a sip of coffee before ploughing on with her soliloquy. "You'll want to know what we have to do to pass the inspection, of course. Well, this is what I've gathered. They'll ask us some standard questions – both of us separately, you know – things like what your boggart is or tends to be, what your patronus is, what you favourite candy is, and so on. They'll also look at where we're living – should we stay at Grimmauld Place or my apartment? – and see if it looks like we're living together."

"Well," said Remus, quietly. "I suppose we'll need to do a lot of talking these next few days."

For some reason, Hermione seemed to go slightly pink. But all she said was, "Yes, a lot."

Determining that she must be hiding something, Remus thought about what could make her blush so prettily, and realised, with a sinking feeling of discomfort: "Hermione."

"Yes?" Her voice was rather higher pitched than usual.

"We won't be consummating our marriage, I expect." He was quite ready to back out of the plan if this was a necessity. He certainly would not subject Hermione to that.

Hermione's cheeks were pink. "Oh, no. Right, I was getting to that. No, we won't need to." She tried, visibly, to put on a business-like expression once again. "'Refusal or inability to consummate' _is_ a ground for a marriage to be voided, but the Ministry can't _void_ our marriage if we don't. They can only check to see if we've really been bound by the marriage spell. They can't check for consummation."

"And it makes it easier to get out of the marriage when the day comes that we can," Remus said, thoughtfully. "We'll be able to just have it annulled."

"Right. Yes." Hermione seemed to have gathered herself. "Having said that, though, I do think we'll need to work on our…acting. You know, hand-holding and body language things like that. Just so we're acting like a real couple when the Ministry inspects us."

"So is that it?" he prompted.

"There's lots to learn, basically. All the questions I listed before, plus lots of other ones, like what presents we've given each other, how we met, our first date, our relatives' names... Um…where we keep the broomstick, whether we have any birthmarks or scars...what we usually have for dinner." Hermione pushed a piece of parchment bearing a dense list of questions towards him.

Remus raised his eyebrows at the slight fervour of excitement on Hermione's face. "You're not _enjoying_ this?"

"Well, it's studying for a test, really," Hermione said, primly. "Of course I'd enjoy it a _little_."


	4. A Secret Engagement

**Chapter 4: A Secret Engagement**

"I think this is good." Hermione gazed down at the timeline she'd just drawn on a length of parchment.

"Let me see that," said Ginny. "So, it looks like Remus proposed to you two weeks ago. But you've been already seeing each other secretly for…" – she squinted – "five months."

"How're you going to prove that?" Ron asked, looking nonplussed, gesturing towards the timeline. "The secret relationship bit."

"The beauty of it being a secret relationship is there wouldn't be any proof," Harry said. "It'd just be Hermione and Remus' word against the Ministry's suspicions."

"So when will you two tell everyone about the engagement?" asked Ron. "Or are you going to keep it secret?"

"No, we can't keep it a secret," said Hermione. "Remus is going to move in with me so that it looks like we've decided to live together now we're engaged. So we'll have to tell everyone about the engagement, now that we're serious."

"Who else knows about this plan?" Harry asked.

"Just you three, and Remus. The others would probably try and stop me," Hermione admitted, "so I'll have to pretend it's real to them."

"But – are you sure _we_ shouldn't be trying to stop you?" Ginny asked, quietly. "I mean, are you absolutely sure about this?"

"We don't know what the Ministry'll do to the werewolves they lock up," Hermione said, feeling a little vexed. "It could be nothing. Maybe they'll just break their wands in two and just let them…just make them sit in a camp. But it could be worse. The Ministry – Umbridge and Rand – there are those who don't see werewolves as humans, even. And if they don't see that, then they wouldn't have a problem torturing them, or even killing them. And Remus – not only did he associate with Dumbledore, he _lived with Greyback's pack_. We don't know what they'll do to him. Like I said, maybe nothing…but I'm not willing to take that risk. I just don't think I could stand by and do nothing. Not when I can at least try."

* * *

Hermione arrived back at her flat to find Remus already inside, which meant he had used the spare key she'd given him. The wizard was sitting at the dining table looking lost in thought, his battered old trunk on the floor beside him.

"Hi, Remus," she said. She felt a fleeting, unexpected sensation of shyness, somehow, seeing him like this in her flat. He'd only come over once or twice before. She usually saw her ex-Professor only when they had group dinners with the Weasleys at the Burrow, or with the Order, at Grimmauld Place. It was strange spending so much time alone with him. _You'd better get used to it_, said a small, sardonic voice in her head.

"Oh, hello," he said, breaking out of his reverie and rising at once from his seat. "I've brought my things. Where would you like me to put them?"

"Oh good," she said. "Did you bring some of your books, and old photographs, things like that?"

Remus nodded. They proceeded, speaking when needed, to set up the flat together. Hermione expanded her dresser's drawer space and shifted her clothes to one side, did the same with her closet and the potions cabinet. They had decided not to use Grimmauld Place because some of the paintings couldn't be trusted not to blab.

"One more thing," said Hermione, dusting her hands off. Remus' trunk was empty by now, and they'd just finished slotting all his books in beside hers on the shelf. "You should get me a ring." She purposefully gave him an overly expectant look, and he laughed. She continued, "Any old thing will do, just so it looks like we're really engaged."

Remus said nothing in return, but looked thoughtful. Later that evening, as Hermione was poring over the evening paper in the living room, Remus sat down beside her on the sofa. She turned to him questioningly and stopped short when she saw what he was holding out: a small square box.

"That was fast," she began, but her smile faded when Remus opened it to reveal a tremendously beautiful ring, set with a diamond-like stone that shone with subtle lights, as if it were a pensieve set small. "I…what?"

"It was my mother's," Remus said, quietly. "My father gave it to me when she passed."

Hermione bit her tongue, hard. Something ached a little in her heart. "Remus, this isn't how you planned on giving it away."

Remus shook his head, already taking the ring out of the box. "I'll start by saying I'm very grateful to you for doing this. But knowing you, Hermione, I should also say this…that it adds a layer of realism to our engagement." He gave her a small smile.

She found herself beaming at him. "If you're sure, then." She would be returning it in any case, she thought. When Remus gave her a decisive nod, she held out her hand. Remus' touch was warm and firm on her skin as he held her finger steady and slid the ring on. Hermione was surprised to feel a warm tingle suffuse her cheeks as he did so. It was always nice, she reasoned, having a man slide a beautiful ring onto your finger.

Remus leaned in and gave her a chaste peck on the cheek. In that moment her nostrils filled with a pleasant soapy scent, and the tingles just beneath her skin intensified, a thrill running down her spine. It was all rather unexpectedly romantic. She found she couldn't stop smiling at Remus.

"Thanks for making our sham engagement so lovely."

He looked so pleased at her enjoyment that Hermione laughed and gave him an affectionate hug.

"Thank you, again," Remus said, seriously, patting her on the back as they parted. "For doing this."

She shook her head. "How could I not?"

* * *

Now that they had their story straight, it was time to make the reveal to the Weasleys. Hermione was not looking forward to the announcement.

Everyone was sitting down at the dinner table, so it was now or in the middle of the meal, when someone was liable to choke on their food. Wincing, Hermione stood up, gingerly, and cleared her throat nervously. She looked at Harry and Ginny, who both gave her small smiles of encouragement. It was ridiculous, she thought, how nervous she was. She wondered whether it would be more or less nerve-wracking if she actually _had_ had a secret relationship with Remus.

To her surprise, she felt her hand being squeezed, and looked down to find Remus' light eyes on her. He stood, leaning in, and said, in a low voice, "Hermione, it's not too late…"

Stiffening her resolve, Hermione shook her head, nerves fading. This was her idea. She was doing this for Remus.

Remus drew his hand away, but Hermione thought she saw Molly's eyes catch the movement. Blushing, Hermione pressed on. "Hi. I've got an announcement to make before we start dinner. It…it might be a bit surprising, but I hope you'll be pleased, too."

They were looking expectantly at her. She looked around at all of them: Arthur and Molly, Bill and Fleur, Percy, George, Harry, Ginny, and Ron. "We're engaged," she said, before she could think about it any longer. She clasped Remus' hand in hers and Molly and Fleur gave identical gasps. Arthur looked agog.

"_Ees zees true?_" cried Fleur, at the same time George exclaimed, "What?!" Molly stood abruptly, her mouth open but no words coming out.

"Yes, yes," Hermione said, putting an arm around Remus' waist to draw him closer.

"Congratulations!" said Ron, before unhelpfully adding, "I had no idea! Ow!" It looked as if Harry had stood on his foot. In all the confusion, no one else noticed.

"Congratulations!" added Ginny. "That's…I mean, when did you two even…" She was much better at acting than her brother was.

"Yes, when?" Molly demanded, having recovered her ability to speak. "Hermione, Remus, how could you two? When did this––" she flapped her hands at the two of them "––when did this _happen_? Why didn't you _tell_ us?"

"We weren't sure you'd approve," Remus said, finally taking a hint and putting a warm, heavy arm around Hermione's shoulders.

But Arthur was giving them a sharp look. "When _did_ this happen, Remus?" Unspoken, he was asking: _since the Act was passed?_

"A few weeks ago," Hermione said, quickly, when she caught the expression on Remus' face – a strange mixture of guilt and shame and something else. She was afraid he'd go back on the plan. "Now that Act's been passed, we'll have to get married much more quickly than we'd planned."

They eventually got around to eating, though the meal was punctuated with questions directed at Hermione or Remus or both of them. After the meal, as they stood, Arthur said, "Remus, Hermione, can I have a word?"

They went into the kitchen, which was empty except for Molly, who stopped the dishwashing spell when they entered.

"Forgive me if I'm being extremely rude," Arthur said, heavily, "but I just wanted to ask: is this marriage to protect Remus from the Ministry?"

For a moment, Hermione wanted to say yes. Perhaps she _could_ say yes. There was a possibility Arthur and Molly would understand––

"Because we don't know yet what the Ministry is planning for the internment facilities," said Arthur. "And there are other ways…Remus could lie low for a while––"

No one knew whether it would just be for a while. She wasn't willing to run the risk. "Yes, we're really engaged," Hermione said, the resolve in her voice startling herself.

Arthur looked at Remus.

"I…" Remus looked at Hermione. "Yes, Arthur. We are." But he looked miserable saying it.

"We weren't sure you'd approve," Hermione said, echoing Remus' words earlier at the table. "But…I love him," she lied.

"Then congratulations," said Molly. But Arthur only nodded, and Hermione had a feeling the conversation wasn't over.

* * *

"There are other ways," Remus said, as soon as they had gotten back to Hermione's – now their – flat. He was speaking quickly, his voice intense. "_Of course_ there are other ways. I could lie low for a few months, see how it turns out."

"No, you _couldn't_," Hermione said, frustrated, putting her purse down on the dining table. "We've been over this, Remus! The Ministry has been all over the country since after the War, and with Kingsley still gone and Umbridge and Rand in charge, we have no idea what they're capable of. They'll take everyone's fear and use it as an excuse to do awful things."

"There are other ways," Remus repeated, mulishly, not looking at her. He waved his wand, conjuring a bed beside the sofa. Hermione felt she'd never seen this side of him before, angry and stubborn and miserable. She wished they could go back to the evening he'd given her the ring.

"Remus, _we've been through this_," she said, finally. "If you…if we can find a better way, I promise, I _promise_ we'll do that instead. Until then, _please_."

Later, alone in her bedroom, she thought how she'd never noticed how intimidatingly blue Remus Lupin's eyes could look, and how there was so much about the man in her living room she had yet to learn. She thought about the misery and guilt on his face, and for the first time, wondered whether her idea was a good one after all.


	5. Fear and Prejudice

**Chapter 5: Fear and Prejudice**

When Hermione woke, she felt as if she had just fallen asleep. Her sleep had been punctuated with uneasy, vague dreams of the Ministry and a forest at night. She didn't remember until she had opened the dresser and was greeted by a stack of Remus' sweaters that she was, technically, engaged. And there it was, when she turned to glance back at the bed – the engagement ring, sitting on her bedside table. She exhaled, shutting her eyes, as the dilemma returned. Was it a good idea? Was it not? Were there other ways?

Even Remus' sweaters seemed somehow to be sitting accusingly beside her own. She snapped the drawer shut.

When she had cleaned up and dressed, she found the living room empty. The bed Remus had conjured was gone. She scanned the room, then the kitchen, but there was no note.

_He's probably just gone out_, she thought, reasonably. She began to make breakfast. It was a Saturday, so she didn't have work. The living room felt a little empty, which was odd, because she had lived by herself for far longer than she'd lived with Remus.

She was running low on grapefruit, and made a mental note to buy more. _Why wouldn't he tell me where he's gone?_ Hermione put her food onto a plate and took it to the kitchen table. _He's probably fine_. She began to eat. The documentary programme she liked was on the radio. Today's segment was about famous wizard-muggle encounters of the twentieth century. Arthur would enjoy it.

_What if I've pushed him too far and he's gone to find another way?_

Hermione put down her fork with a clunk, a little too hard, and swallowed. The grapefruit was bitter on her tongue. She might as well send an owl round to the Burrow and give Harry and Ginny a call to see if Remus had told them where he'd gone. A while later, the phone call having been made and the owl having returned, she found that he hadn't.

She wasn't sure if it was rational to panic. All she knew was she didn't seem able to focus on the file she'd brought home from work. It wasn't a problem she was used to.

The doorbell rang, and she grabbed at her wand to unlock the door. "It's open!" she said, crossing the room in a few steps, her heart soaring. It was fine; she had worried for nothing. Here he was, back already, and it was only noon. But––

"Hi, Hermione," said Arthur, but stopped short when her face fell at the sight of him. "What's wrong? I've just come by to speak with you."

"Oh, it's just – I thought you were Remus," she said. "Come in, come in."

"Is he not back yet, then?" Arthur was looking at her closely, a faint line between his eyebrows.

"No, he's been gone since this morning," Hermione said. She paced a little, pressing her lips together. "I don't know where he's gone."

"Well, he could be anywhere," Arthur said, reasonably, in a reassuring tone, but she looked quickly at him and said, feeling inexplicably desperate,

"That's just it! He could be anywhere! I'm just – I'm afraid he's gone off to find 'another way'! I think he'd rather lie low somewhere – and risk being caught and hurt and locked up – rather than marry me, all because he thinks he's no good for me because he's too _old_ and a _werewolf_ and––"

"Shh, shh, Hermione, it's okay," said Arthur, moving towards her and putting his hands on her shoulders. Hermione swallowed, her heart thumping. A small part of her mind was still protesting that Remus could have simply gone for a bite to eat outside, or to browse the bookstore, or for a walk, anything really, yet she felt unable to acknowledge that reassurance. To her dismay, she felt the prickling of tears as she looked at Arthur Weasley's worried face. "I'm sure he's okay. Remus can handle himself, remember?" Arthur looked at her sympathetically, and he continued, "I came here to talk to you about the marriage, but I can see that I've been very insensitive indeed. Forgive me. Don't worry about Remus, Hermione. I'm sure he'll be back."

So he believed the marriage was real, then. The small victory felt pale and insignificant in light of Remus being missing. She managed to give Arthur a smile. "Thanks, Mr–Arthur." She wiped her cheeks quickly, turning away. "I'll just – I'll just wait."

No sooner had she spoken those words than they heard the key in the lock, and they both stared over as the door opened, revealing first Remus' tousled brown-and-grey head and then the entire man himself, the wizard who had caused Hermione such inexplicable heartache that entire morning.

"Oh, hello, Arthur," Remus said, nodding at the other wizard.

"Hi," said Arthur. He glanced at Hermione. "I was just leaving, actually. Good to see you, Remus. You're still coming to dinner on Monday? Well, I suppose you are, actually, since Hermione is…well, I'd best be off." He gave Hermione a smile as he headed out the door, and she heard a distant _crack_ as he Disapparated some distance down the hall. Remus shut the door behind him.

"How are you?" Remus asked, taking off his cloak and walking over to drape it over the back of the sofa. He retrieved a rolled-up copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from a pocket and started to sit before he noticed Hermione's expression. "What's the matter? Is something wrong?"

She couldn't quite contain herself, and burst out: "Where have you _been?_ I've been worried sick!"

Remus Lupin had the gall to look stunned. "Worried?" he repeated, straightening and slowly lowering the _Prophet_.

"Yes, worried!" Hermione snapped. "You go running off without a word to god knows where – to do god knows what – of course I was worried!"

Remus looked bewildered. Then he opened his mouth and closed it again, then said, "Hermione." He moved towards her. "I'm sorry to have – caused you worry. I – I suppose I'm just used to never having to let anyone know where I'm going."

"Oh," Hermione said. She could feel all the indignation seeping from herself, replaced by a slight sadness. Remus had lived alone all those years after Hogwarts, hadn't he? Before Dumbledore had looked for him for the Order. She swallowed. "Well…where did you go?"

"Just for a walk." He reached out as if to touch her, but just brushed his palm down her arm instead. "I'm sorry. I'll tell you in the future. You might have to remind me, though; old habits, you know."

"Right," she said. "I'm sorry. I just thought that…after last night…" she stopped, unsure whether she wanted to bring up the topic. "I thought you might've gone off to find another way, or something."

Remus didn't speak for a while. "I thought about it," he admitted, finally. "But…I just thought about it."

Hermione said, feeling a sense of relief for the first time, "Good."

* * *

She went in to work on Monday to discover Andrew sitting on the edge of her desk, chatting with Phemea, the young witch with whom she shared the office. "Hermione!" he said, warmly, when she came in. "I'd come to rearrange the date we missed, but I ran into Fleur and she hinted that you were – otherwise engaged." He raised his eyebrows. "Is it true?"

Hermione flushed. Phemea was gawping at her. "I'm so sorry, Andrew. I – erm – it was a secret relationship, because––"

"Say no more," said Andrew, gallantly, holding up both hands to stop her. "I understand. I just wanted to hear it from you." He inclined his head towards her, said, "Send Remus my best wishes," and departed, leaving Hermione alone with Phemea.

"You're engaged?" Phemea hissed. "Congratulations! Who's this Remus and why haven't I met him?"

Hermione supposed it would make the engagement seem more real if her colleagues at the Ministry believed she'd had a secret relationship with Remus for several months. "I am," she said, smiling at Phemea. "Thank you. You might have heard of him? Remus Lupin."

A strange look crossed Phemea's face. "Remus…Lupin?"

Her stomach sinking, a simultaneous rush of anger filling her chest, Hermione said, in a rather harder voice: "Yes."

"But…he's…a _werewolf_, isn't he?" Phemea said, in a hushed whisper, looking aghast, as though said werewolf's fiancée wouldn't already know this.

"Of course he is," Hermione replied, acidly. Catching the tone, Phemea seemed to find it wise to say no more. They worked in an uncomfortable, tense, silence, Hermione boiling inside with frustration and disappointment, and she was glad when the meal hour came and Phemea fled the room.

But the day would soon grow much worse. On her way back from lunch, she caught sight of Phemea, Geminus and Hera, standing with their heads together and talking about something in low voices. They hadn't seen her emerge from the fireplace beside them. She caught their words:

"…maybe she's a golddigger?"

"_Or_ he's gotten her pregnant. That's why they've got to get married so fast." Phemea giggled.

Hera gave a nasty laugh. "No, he's a werewolf, remember? We've just passed that Act, haven't we? He's got to marry someone to save his neck."

"That poor child, though…werewolf for a father…" said Phemea.

"I wouldn't worry about werewolves," said Geminus, and Hermione felt a spark of hope. But when he continued, the spark turned into abhorrence instead. "There won't be much of them around for much longer. The Ministry'll round 'em up and take care of them," he finished, with a crude sort of chuckle.

Hermione's stomach turned. She felt almost physically revolted. Any doubt she had had about the marriage plan, any hope that had remained that there might be another way, had just been well and truly removed.


	6. Bouillabaisse

**Chapter 6: Bouillabaisse**

Remus was not home when she got back, but there was a corner of parchment in the middle of the kitchen table, one edge pinned under Remus' mug. When she got closer, she saw that it read, in Remus' neat handwriting that instantly made her think of the (few) red-inked notes on her third-year homework essays:

_Gone to the shops. Will be back with supper - don't fill up!_

_Remus_

Her heart clenched as she thought back to her colleagues' words. The problem, she tried to rationalise to herself, was that most people simply didn't know any witch or wizard who was also a werewolf. If only they had a friend like Remus, instead of forming their impressions based on monsters like Fenrir Greyback. It was like looking at Voldemort and concluding that all wizards were malicious.

About half an hour later, there came a scratching sound at the door, then the sound of the key in the lock. Hermione looked over from her lazy position on the sofa to see Remus come in, arms filled with paper grocery bags. "Hello, Hermione," he said, catching sight of her, and promptly lost his grip on a bag. Hermione winced as two grapefruits hit the floor and rolled towards her. She reached for her wand and sent them back into the bag with two faint plops.

"D'you like steak?" Remus asked, heaving all the bags onto the table and pulling his wand out to start putting all the food away.

"Yes, I do." Hermione walked over, watching him interestedly. He was wearing all muggle clothes, a dark green sweater over beige slacks. "You're not going to cook, are you?"

"I am. I'm not half bad, actually." He gave her a small grin, which, combined with his tone, made her laugh. Remus Lupin, bragging. She had a fleeting vision of a teenage Remus joking and bantering with a young Sirius and James Potter.

Later, when they had nearly finished eating, Remus said, "I got an owl today from the Ministry."

The Ministry. Just hearing the words made Hermione's stomach turn as she thought of what had happened earlier that day. "What did it say?"

"They gave me an official petition form I need to submit if I want to claim 'responsible' status." Remus hesitated. She could feel his eyes on her face, so she looked up from her plate. "Before I sent it in, I just wanted to make sure you…make sure you were sure."

"Yes, of course," Hermione said, spearing the last piece of broccoli and popping it in her mouth. "You put down 'marriage' as the ground, right? Can I have a look at the form?"

Remus said, "_Accio_." A piece of parchment flew from across the room into his outstretched hand. He handed it to Hermione. She saw that he'd filled in everything, neatly, except the section which read 'Category claimed':

_**PETITION FOR "PROVEN RESPONSIBLE" STATUS**_

_**Category claimed:**_

_**Category 2 –**__ DMCSA s. 17(1)(b) _

_Married to: Witch or Wizard (delete as appropriate) _

_Full Name of Spouse: [_]_

_Date of Marriage: [_]_

_No. of Children together: [_]_

"I'm sure," Hermione said, firmly, glancing up at Remus. "Do you mind if I finish this up for you?"

Remus seemed to want to argue for a moment, and she was thankful he did not. He nodded instead. Hermione summoned a standard ink pen and wrote in her own details.

_**Category 2 –**__ DMCSA s. 17(1)(b) _

_Married to: Witch _

_Full Name of Spouse: _Hermione Jean Granger

_Date of Marriage: _1998, date TBD

_No. of Children together:_ 0

This was it, then. She was making it final by sending this in. Hermione was only a little surprised to find that she felt no uncertainty as she handed the form back to Remus and nodded.

A Ministry owl returned with an answer much more quickly than she had expected. It could only mean the Ministry was taking the Act very seriously, keeping staff working into the night. She and Remus read the letter together on the sofa:

_To: LUPIN, Remus John (Type: Werewolf)_

**_Petition for "Proven Responsible" Status under the Dangerous Magical Creatures and Security Act 1998_**

_Mr. Lupin:_

_Your Petition has been received by the Ministry. We note that although you claim status under Category 2, your marriage has yet to take place. Accordingly, we have arranged an Inspection date of __**12 October 1998**__ to determine the authenticity of your relationship with Ms. Hermione Jean Granger. Your assigned Ministry Inspector is __**Mr. Hubert Hickering**__._

_As a reminder, even if the DMCSA comes into effect on 1 January 1999, the Ministry Inspector will weigh more favourably those marriages that have already been finalised. _

_Nyrian O. Rand_

_Head, Beast Division, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_

_Ministry of Magic_

"That gives us less than two months," Hermione said. "I'll go and talk to Fleur and Mrs–I mean, Molly. Let's try and have the wedding in early October. That way it's before the inspection but not too soon. And in the meantime, we've got to start learning the answers to that list of questions I wrote out before. Where did I – _accio_ – ah, yes." She caught the roll of parchment. "You'd better get comfortable, Remus."

Remus nodded, taking a swallow of the muggle beer he'd bought with all the groceries. Hermione had fancied a glass of wine instead, and she took a sip of that now as she glanced down the list of questions.

"Right. 'What form does your boggart usually take, or what form has it taken in the past?' I'll start––"

"No need," Remus said, smiling faintly at her. "It takes the form of a certain irate professor and devastating exam results."

Hermione laughed. Of course he remembered. "You know, I haven't really come across another boggart since that exam. For all I know, that's still my boggart."

Remus nodded. "Mine's – well, you know mine." She nodded. Remus' boggart, a representation of the full moon, had been one of the clues that led her to discovering that he was a werewolf. "It's strange." Remus laughed, though it was edged with bitterness. "I always thought I loathed the moon, rather than feared it."

They were quiet for a moment, each taking another sip of their respective drinks, before Hermione cleared her throat and asked the next question. "What form does your Patronus take?" She knew she did not know the answer to this question. She could not recall ever witnessing him produce a corporeal patronus.

Remus' expression darkened. But when he caught Hermione's eyes, he attempted to smile. "Ah, yes." He ran his fingers over his jaw, where dark blonde stubble was coming in. "My patronus happens to be – a wolf." He dropped the smile and exhaled through his nose. "Even when thinking of my happiest moments, I must be reminded of my worst."

"Oh, Remus," she said, quietly. "Well. Mine's an otter."

He looked much cheerier upon hearing this. "How delightful." She was glad to see the light back on his face, and glad also to notice that the next questions on the first page were mostly innocuous: favourite foods, pastimes, spells, school subjects ("But how can I choose just one?" she asked, flustered, as Remus laughed heartily at her expense), books, places, music, and so on. Hermione took notes; Remus did not. By the time it was so late that Remus had finished a fourth beer and a glass of her wine, Hermione found herself underlining 'Berlin' and 'Johannesburg' with little idea why.

"Remind me what's 'Berlin' and 'Johannesburg' again?" she asked, rubbing an eye and stifling a yawn.

"Two of my favorite cities outside of Britain," Remus informed her. "You don't have to take _quite_ so many notes, you know. Most people haven't really studied their fiancé in such a manner."

Hermione gave a laugh which sounded rather like a giggle. It was probably the wine. It was definitely the wine. "I am, though. Have you heard of speed dating? This is more of a speed relationship. I feel as though I've enrolled in An Intensive Course in Remus Lupin." She met his eyes; he was smiling. "_You_ haven't written anything down," she said, accusingly.

"Ask me anything," he returned.

"A favourite food?"

"Bouillabaisse. And Paella done right. Best if Valencian," he added.

"Very good accents, too, I have to say. Here's another – my favourite class at Hogwarts?"

"Impossible to choose," Remus quipped, and broke into a grin. He looked incredibly young like this, with the full-on grin he rarely sported. It was, Hermione thought, a shame. He had a nice grin.

"Not bad," Hermione admitted. "Those were easy ones, though. I'd go on, but I feel I'd fall asleep midsentence. And I've got - work tomorrow." She carefully avoided thinking about work.

"More tomorrow, then," said Remus. "Goodnight, Hermione."

She smiled at him. "Goodnight." When she gave him a quick hug, he smelled like soap and another of her favourites, a woodsy scent of fresh-cut leaves. She made a mental note to add that one to the list, _favourite smells_, before reconsidering that most real spouses probably didn't know that one.

Hermione left Remus to conjure up his bed as usual in the living room. She'd liked listening to him all this evening, and looked forward to the next. They would probably be delving a little deeper than favourite foods, but it was good to take it slowly. Besides, she knew enough of Remus to know that slowly was the only way they _could_ do it.


	7. Beautiful and Natural (and Private)

**Chapter 7: Beautiful and Natural (and Private)**

Though he'd slept after two the previous night, Remus awoke at six through sheer habit. He rolled over in bed and considered getting more sleep, but Hermione's sheet of parchment from last night caught his eye and he felt quite awake. She'd left it on the coffee table. As he got out of bed, he could see she had titled it _R.J. Lupin_. She had, however, written _old stuff_ next to 'favourite music'. He frowned. Old stuff? Everything became old stuff eventually. What mattered was whether it was good stuff.

Remus thought of bouillabaisse as he showered, his hair foamy with shampoo. When he remembered her patronus, he smiled. He liked otters. He wondered whether Hermione shared any other characteristics with the animal apart from a fondness for seafood. He had just begun rinsing his hair when the door opened and Hermione slouched in looking quite tired, causing him to start in fright.

"I'm in here!" he exclaimed, quickly. She stopped in her tracks, looking up at him and appearing somehow both half-awake and shocked.

"Sorry!" she said, and backed out hastily, slamming the door as she went. Remus let out a breath of relief and returned to hurriedly rinsing off. Well, that was bound to happen eventually. In the past several days Hermione had usually seemed to rise at seven, but he had better start locking the door just in case. It was all taking some getting used to; when he'd lived alone he barely ever closed the bathroom door.

Hermione's muffled voice came through the door. "Remus?"

He turned off the water and tugged his towel from the rack. "Yes?"

"I don't want to rush you, only - I'm _dying_ for a pee," came her voice again. For some reason, he found her words rather amusing. Suppressing a smile, he yanked a fresh shirt over his head and, holding the towel round his waist, opened the door. Hermione squeezed straight past him and made for the toilet, and he laughed out loud even as he shut the bathroom door behind her.

"I don't know why you're laughing!" he heard, faintly, after him, and the tone of mock indignation only added fuel to his mirth. To be perfectly honest, he didn't quite know, either.

Once Hermione had eaten breakfast and left for work, Remus sat at the kitchen table and wrote a letter to Minerva to see if she'd made any progress with the Ministry regarding the possibility of his returning to work, and whether there was anything he could do. He'd gone to Hogwarts that day Hermione had been so worried about whether he'd left her. Minerva had been delighted to hear he wished to return, and he'd felt good about that, at least. But all the other news had been bad news.

"You know I'd hire you on the spot, Remus," Minerva had said, before continuing, lips pressing briefly into a thin line, "but I've got to get past the Ministry. They've been working the board of governors ever since that wretched Act passed, trying to convince them to pass ever stricter hiring regulations. But I'll do it, Remus. So long as you wish to return, we'll get you back."

He had hoped that if he somehow obtained new employment with a 'witch or wizard', the Ministry would accept that as a ground for being 'proven responsible'. But, as the thoroughly unpleasant wizard at the Werewolf Registry had informed him, only employment for three years or more would count. He'd given up hope on the idea after that, and gone back to Hermione's flat.

After he'd mailed the letter to Minerva, Remus made himself lunch, then retrieved a fresh roll of parchment and started jotting down Hermione's answers from the previous night. It made sense to have some material so he could refresh his memory before the inspection. And Hermione was right; it _was_ just like studying for an exam. Thinking of that made him smile, as he remembered Hermione in her third year, arm stuck straight up in the air in her eagerness to answer all the questions. She hadn't changed a bit.

But that evening, with that memory and the view currently in front of him side by side in his head, he saw that Hermione _had_ changed. She might be writing furiously like she used to in class, but she was no longer a child; she was barely a teenager anymore. If he had to describe her, Remus thought, neither of those phrases fit. She was a young woman. When had that happened? How old did that make _him_?

Hermione looked up from where she was sitting on the carpet, legs tucked to one side, her elbows rested on the coffee table. "Remus? Are you listening?" She tucked a stray strand of hair (rather sleeker now than seven odd years ago) behind her ear and regarded him curiously. One sleeve of the white blouse she wore to work was hitched up higher than the other.

Remus started. "What?"

"I said we should leave in a bit. Dinner at the Burrow, remember? We were meant to go yesterday but you cooked instead, and I forgot all about it."

"Oh. Right, of course."

* * *

Hermione stifled a yawn as she took a seat beside Remus at the table.

"Didn't get much sleep last night?" inquired George, innocently.

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, and Remus knew she was thinking of how they'd stayed up last night learning the answers for the inspection. But he also knew what George was thinking of. Evidently, Hermione was thinking nothing of the sort, because she continued, "We didn't get to sleep 'til nearly three."

George gave her a wicked grin and Bill smirked, too. Ginny had to cover her mouth with one hand to stifle her laughter at the look on Hermione's face.

"Oh - no!" Hermione said.

"Remus, you dog," said George. "Well - sort of."

"I do hope you're not being inappropriate with Remus!" came Molly's voice as she appeared at the end of the table, carefully levitating a pot and several plates of food.

"_Non_, but the sex ees a beautiful and natural theeng," said Fleur, shaking her silvery blonde head and looking earnestly at Remus and Hermione.

"A beautiful, natural, and _private_ thing," Molly returned. Hermione, Remus noticed, looked as grateful as he felt. He stood to help Molly with the plates, quickly changing the subject to the food by marvelling at her ability to roast a chicken so perfectly.

A little while later, Harry arrived, followed shortly after by Arthur and Ron. Harry gave Ginny a grin and a quick kiss. Remus pondered how it was that they were all adults now. He helped Molly fill each of their bowls with soup. When they came to Bill and Fleur's bowls, he saw that they were now kissing quite thoroughly, as though inspired by Harry and Ginny.

Remus exchanged a glance with Hermione. Then he looked over to find Molly looking away from him. He frowned.

"Let's eat!" she said, instead, beaming around at them all. "It's always a pleasure to have everyone able to come over, especially now that we have _one more couple_ in our midst."

Hermione was smiling quite convincingly. For Remus, however, the subject always, still, dredged up thoughts of whether there was another way. He was startled out of it when he felt Hermione's hand in his hair. He gave her a bewildered look, and she in turn flicked her eyes significantly across the table, where he now saw that Fleur was lovingly fussing with her husband's hair.

"That's because he's _got_ hair," Remus muttered in an undertone.

"Nonsense, you've got lovely hair," Hermione said, cheerfully. "Honestly, though. You're lucky to have such a full head of hair at your age."

He tried to give her a hurt look, though he was a little distracted by the pleasant sensation of her fingers combing gently through said hair. He couldn't remember the last time anyone other than himself had done that.

When he turned back to his food, he caught Molly watching the pair of them with rather gooey eyes.

Remus' own efforts to act like they were a genuine couple were much worse than Hermione's attempts. By the time he had awkwardly rested a hand on her shoulder for the second time, she gave him a look that said, quite clearly: _Honestly, you big baby_. "Just - whisper something nice in my ear," she whispered.

"Er - alright," he said. Leaning in, he found himself utterly without ideas, and ended up telling her, uncertainly, "You smell nice?" Which was perfectly true. Hermione looked taken aback before biting her lip, smiling.

"That _was_ nice, Remus. Well done. We may get you a BAFTA yet."

"What's a BAFTA?" asked Ron, catching the word.

"The Baltic Free Trade Area?" inquired Fleur.

"No, no, they're these muggle awards," said Arthur, perking up and looking visibly excited. "Right, Hermione? For those, er, _flimsies_ that they watch in cold dark rooms full of chairs fixed to the ground."

Fleur looked appalled at the existence of such a place; Harry and Hermione were chortling at this not entirely inaccurate description of a movie theatre. Remus himself thought of the times he'd gone to watch movies with his parents; his father had become a great fan of several muggle technologies, and the "_sickle screen_" ("Silver, Lyall, honestly!") was one of them.

After supper (and a heated discussion over whether one of the past Academy Awards – _Oz cars_, said Arthur, excitedly – had, in fact, been a Portkey), Harry and Ginny caught up with Remus as he and Hermione exited the house.

"I've got news," said Harry, as they watched a sleeping gnome wake with a start at the sound of their voices and trudge off grumpily into the bushes. "I heard from some of the other training Aurors that the Ministry might be using Veritaserum or Legilimency on what they call the 'highest risk' inspections. They're legally not allowed to, but that's never stopped Umbridge." He looked grim.

"So at Inspection, don't drink - or eat, I suppose - anything anyone related to the Ministry offers you," said Ginny, "and don't look them in the eye too much. Though you've got to, a little, to appear sincere...maybe you could teach them some Occlumency, Harry?"

"I was completely rubbish at it," said Harry, shaking his head. "But I think you'd be good, Hermione. We'd just need someone who knows Legilimency-"

"I could do it," said Remus, quietly.

"You - what? You can?" Harry asked, staring at him. "How come Dumbledore never got you to teach me?"

Remus shook his head. "Severus was a greater Legilimens."

"But you would've been less - you know," said Harry.

"Less intrusive? I think Dumbledore thought it important you faced someone who was more intrusive, who would use against you what dark wizards would. But even apart from that, I wasn't often in one place during that year."

"You had your missions," Hermione said. "Well – alright. Thanks for letting us know, Harry." She gave Ginny a big hug. "See you later."

She then hooked her arm through Remus', and they Apparated home.

The first thing Hermione said once they'd locked the door behind them was, "We've got a lot of work to do." She folded her arms across her chest and observed Remus.

"Yes, there are a lot of questions we still haven't gotten round to—"

"Not just that," she said, "we need to work on physical affection." She went only slightly pink. "The Ministry's not going to buy what we're peddling unless we're like Bill and Fleur…or at least Harry and Ginny."

Remus sighed. "You're right."

"I think we ought to go out to, you know, observe other couples and practice in public."

"You know, there _are_ couples who aren't very touchy-feely at all," Remus said, hopefully. "That's a good idea, though. I'll look for a good date spot."

* * *

**A/N**: To everyone, thanks for sharing your thoughts with me! It makes me happy that you like what you're reading, and I've gotten a lot of great ideas. Also, I just really like talking about Remus and Hermione, haha. If I haven't been able to PM you in reply - here's a big thank you. :) x


	8. Rehearsal and a Friend

**Chapter 8: Rehearsal and a Friend**

Using Floo powder, Remus paid a visit to Bill and Fleur the next morning, catching them just before they were to leave for work.

"I'm taking Hermione on a lunch date, you see," said Remus, brushing himself off as he emerged from the fireplace. "She likes Provençal food, and I figured I'd ask an expert."

But instead of appearing flattered, Fleur was gazing at him with some alarm. "Not like _zat_ you are not!" she cried, her accent stronger than usual with evident horror as she looked at him. It was rather demoralising. Remus looked down at himself. He'd put on his best clothes; wasn't that enough?

She pointed her wand at him and gave it a complicated little wiggle. Remus instantly felt as though an invisible comb was dragging itself through his hair. He vaguely remembered Lily using a similar spell on James in their last year at Hogwarts.

"And your clothes!" Fleur gave a sigh of despair. "Well, you will need to 'ave zem altered at the shop eventually, but zees will 'ave to do for now." She redirected her wand and Remus jumped as his dress shirt started tailoring itself to his body. Where it had been loose before (_what was wrong with that?_), it was now more fitted around his chest and waist. He looked up with some indignation and found Bill standing beside Fleur shaking his head sympathetically.

"Sorry, mate, can't help you," he said, grinning, in response to Remus' look. "Just keep quiet and it'll be over soon."

"Now I will tell you the name of a restaurant," said Fleur, lowering her wand and observing him with satisfaction. "And then you will go 'ome and shave before meeting your fiancée."

Remus managed to swallow his complaints and say, with good grace, "Thank you. Have a…have a good day at work, you two."

* * *

Remus had told her to meet him beside the last fireplace on the west side of the Ministry's entrance hall, but he didn't seem to have arrived yet as she made her way across the marble floor. There was a tall, well-dressed wizard in muggle business clothing near the meeting point and Hermione decided not to get too close to him. She stood near the middle of the hall instead, and observed the fires for Remus.

"Hermione. Hermione!"

She glanced up. How odd: she'd heard Remus calling her, but there was only the tall wizard strolling towards her. He had a nice jaw and neatly-parted dark blonde hair, and a – a scar across his face?

It took her a second to realise that the tall, well-dressed man was Remus. "Oh!" she said, in surprise, breaking into a smile. "I'm sorry, I hardly recognized you! No, it's good, you look very handsome. Not that you don't usually look good," she added.

"Well. Thanks," he said, a little gruffly. "I went to ask Fleur for a restaurant recommendation…"

"Oh, Remus." Hermione laughed. "I see what happened." Harry had been through the same ordeal, once, the day of his and Ginny's first anniversary dinner. "I hope you at least got the information for your trouble – where are we headed?" They had stopped in front of a fireplace, and Remus reached out to take a pinch of floo powder. Before he could toss it into the fire, however, someone called across the hall,

"Hermione!"

Hermione shut her eyes briefly. It was Phemea. She turned just enough to see the witch hurrying toward them. "Let's go," she said, quickly. Remus glanced back and then looked at Hermione searchingly, but did not question her; he placed a hand on her back and flooed them out of the Ministry.

They emerged from the fireplace of a café where a few elderly witches and wizards were having drinks, some of them reading. Hermione said, before Remus had a chance to inquire, "That was a colleague of mine. I don't exactly get on with her."

Remus frowned. "I'm sorry. I hope you don't see her around too often, then."

She laughed. "I share an office with her, actually."

He shared a look of exasperation with her, a funny-how-life-works sort of look, as he led her out of the café, holding the door open for her. They emerged onto a street in a nice part of the city that Hermione recognized.

"The restaurant's right around here," Remus said. "I came to check it out this morning. The menu looked quite decent."

"Right. Remus, before we go in." Hermione grabbed at his sleeve, and he paused, turning to her. "Since we're learning to play our parts, number one rule of improvisation: go along with anything your partner says or does."

"Oh, alright," he said.

"Let's just treat it like a skit. Like we're rehearsing for the show we'll be putting on in October."

"Well, shouldn't be a problem – I've already got one BAFTA under my belt, haven't I?"

Hermione shook her head in mock disapproval of his attempt at a joke. "We'll see if you really deserved that."

When they'd been seated by a pleasant waitress and had ordered some wine, Hermione looked around the restaurant. It was filled mostly with couples, and businesspeople having business lunches. Quite fortunately, the table nearest them was occupied by a couple.

When their waitress returned, Remus ordered for the two of them. ("I wonder what you fancy," he asked. "Could it possibly be the bouillabaisse?") The couple near them were now holding hands across the table.

"Let's try that," Hermione said, when the waitress was out of earshot.

"Won't it look like we're copying them?" asked Remus, only half-teasingly.

"What was that rule of improvisation?" Hermione asked, and he laughed.

"Right. You're right." Remus reached forward and turned his hands over, palms up on the table, and Hermione put hers in his. He squeezed her fingers gently, brushing the pads of his thumbs lightly over her skin. He was looking down at their hands, but Hermione found herself looking at his face – the longest scar that ran from just inside one eyebrow down across the bridge of his nose and a little across one cheek. She'd never really taken the time to look at him so closely. It confirmed what she had only known in abstract, which was that Remus Lupin was quite handsome, in a quiet sort of way.

He looked up, blue eyes meeting hers, and Hermione felt her face grow rather warm. Well. She still had work to do, then. This wouldn't do for the inspection. _Just pretend it's Andrew or another guy_, she thought to herself, but found herself retorting, _Why would that make it better?_

"We won't really need this for the inspection, though, will we?" Remus asked, his tone light and joking. Hermione tried to pull herself together.

"Not _specifically_. We've just got to seem comfortable with each other."

Remus laughed. He reached across to her and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "This is harder than any exam I've ever taken. Forced public displays of affection."

How was this the same man at dinner with the Weasleys the other night? Why did it seem as if he had somehow absorbed all the confidence from her? This was not how she'd pictured the date; if she was honest with herself, in her mental image Remus had been awkward and she'd been the one joking and, well, touching him. Easily. Without this odd flushing feeling that was lingering somewhere in the region of her neck.

"What's the matter?" Remus looked apprehensive. "Have I…did I…"

"Oh, no," she said, quickly. "No, you're doing brilliantly. I was just…thinking of something else." She must be missing physical intimacy. That was it. She'd only had one date and a few kisses with Andrew, and before him she hadn't gone out with anyone in months.

"Shall we move on?" Hermione asked, feeling vaguely reckless, and jokingly making a face, "A kiss?" She recalled the peck he'd given her on the night he gave her the engagement ring. She'd felt a little odd then, too. It had really been too long.

It was Remus who looked a little uncomfortable now, and she felt victorious. The reckless feeling was glowing dangerously somewhere near her stomach. She leaned in; Remus mirrored her movement and, with apparently great difficulty, brushed his lips barely over the corner of her mouth. She fought back a smile, unsuccessfully.

"You know," Remus said, looking greatly relieved as their appetisers arrived, "I think we've made enough progress for one day." He had let go of her hands. And, though it had only been a few minutes into their sham date, Hermione rather agreed.

* * *

When Hermione returned to her office after lunch, Phemea asked her, determinedly, "Was that Remus?"

Hermione didn't answer.

"He's quite fit," Phemea persisted.

"Yes, well, he's a _werewolf_, isn't he?" Hermione said, scathingly.

But Phemea pressed on, "I'd – I'd like to meet him some time."

Rounding on her, unable to help a swell of anger as she remembered Geminus' words, Hermione asked, "_Why?_ So you can tell all your friends you've met a werewolf? That you, I don't know, stood only inches away and he somehow, miraculously, didn't maul you?––"

To her surprise, Phemea said, heatedly, "No! Because he's your fiancé, and you're my friend!"

"You're not my friend," Hermione said, coldly. "Friends don't call their friends gold diggers, or say nasty things about their fiancé behind their back."

Phemea went bright red. Hermione sat down at her desk and turned her back on her. She wondered if she had been too harsh. It had, after all, been Geminus and not Phemea who had talked about 'taking care' of werewolves.

"I'm sorry."

Hermione turned at once. Phemea was standing, her hands clenched into fists by her sides, and her eyes were shining. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't've done what I did. But I…I meant what I said just now, Hermione. I consider you my friend and I'm sorry, and I do want to meet Remus. I don't – I don't agree with Geminus," she went on, swallowing and looking more determined now. "I've always been a bit afraid of werewolves – because of all the stories I'd been told – but I know that if you're going to marry someone who's – who's a werewolf, then...I've been wrong about them."

Hermione's heart seized with gratitude and shame and a flare of hope. "I'm…I'm sorry, then," she said, quietly. "Thank you."

"Do you – forgive me?" Phemea looked sombrely at her. "I'm truly sorry. I just spent the lunch break reading the new Security Act and it's – it's awful."

"It is awful," Hermione said, fervently. "Please – I forgive you. It's so good to hear you talk about the Act."

Phemea shook her head slowly, and said, "We…we can't have something like that."

Hermione waited. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't think I could work for a Ministry that'll carry out the sort of things the Act allows." Phemea was frowning now. "We're in the Magical Laws Division for a reason, aren't we? We can't just stand by and watch."

"_Yes_," Hermione said. She felt an overwhelming affection for her colleague and newly cemented friend. "Exactly."


	9. Beyond the Moon

A/N: Hello! I have some very busy weeks of study ahead, but having made some time to write this scene, I wanted to share it with you sooner rather than later. x

* * *

**Chapter 9: Beyond the Moon**

Hermione arrived home to find that Remus had changed into an old sweater, and was lounging on the sofa reading a thick book. His hair was normal again, and Hermione couldn't resist ruffling it as she passed by on her way to the bedroom. "I like your hair like this."

She heard, as she left the room, "Please tell that to Fleur!"

They had a simple supper. As they ate, Hermione noticed that there was a new set of vials on one of the kitchen shelves. Only four vials were filled, and they were stoppered, but the potion inside each looked as if it would be unpleasant to the taste. In fact, she recognised the colour, and when she looked back to Remus he only nodded.

"I went to see Horace today." Remus looked down. "I'm very fortunate that he's able to brew it."

It was the week before the full moon. He had to drink one vial every night of the week, she remembered. "Why are there only four vials?"

"That's the longest it's effective for once out of the cauldron." Remus was pushing a piece of carrot around on his plate. "I've got to go back for the last three later."

Hermione nodded. She didn't want to talk about it if he didn't. Instead, she took a sip of water and then recrossed her legs under the table, accidentally grazing something solid with her foot. Remus fairly leapt at the touch and Hermione looked up, startled. But it was Remus who apologised.

"Sorry. I start getting sort of jumpy." His cheeks were slightly flushed. When he glanced at her, his eyes looked green under the kitchen lights.

She asked, gently, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Remus paused, then gave a shrug. "I suppose we're going to talk in any case."

"Beer? Wine? Something else?" She picked up her wand.

"I'd better have my potion first." Remus made a face and, standing, carefully extricated a vial from its stand. He drank it down quickly. When he saw she was still watching expectantly, he said, "Wine, I think."

A few moments later, wineglass in hand, Hermione sat down in her armchair and tucked her legs beneath her. Remus took the sofa, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. She waited for him to settle back before she spoke.

"What's…how're you feeling?"

"I'm alright." He was playing, perhaps absently, with the fabric on the arm of the sofa. "Been better, of course. But the first night isn't too bad."

"Do you start feeling – different, the other days?"

"It gets worse the closer I am. The wolfsbane does a good job of mellowing the symptoms. It's mostly – I start feeling restive, stressed. Carnal needs – animal things. As I suppose you already know, some attribute this to the wolf…stirring, you might say. But I…" Remus winced. "I don't like the idea that I always have the wolf with me."

"If you don't want to talk about anything, just tell me," Hermione said, quietly. He simply nodded. She took it as permission to go on. "How - how do you think about it, then? Your wolf form."

Remus grimaced. He took a deep swallow of wine and Hermione summoned the bottle to pour him some more. "Right." He opened his mouth, then seemed to stop. He looked at her and said, "First, I've never spoken about this with a…with someone who's not also a werewolf. I mean, back in Hogwarts James and Sirius knew, but I was young then and hardly prone to metaphysical musings on my condition." He smiled. "I was glad enough to have my nightmare, private for so long, converted into a 'furry little problem' by my friends – and so I left it at that."

Hermione returned the smile, glad that he had had his friends. She felt, not for the first time, wholeheartedly, a deep sorrow that Remus had lost so many, so soon.

He went on, "I've always tried to see the curse as simply entailing me, a human, transforming into a wolf once a month. After the wolfsbane potion was invented and I was able to access it for the first time, it became easier to believe that. So what I've always told myself is – I'm a werewolf, yes. But I'm a wizard at the same time. And more than that, even, is – at my most basic, I'm human."

"With all the good and bad that the human condition entails," Hermione said, smiling. "I think that's a great way to think about it, Remus. Would you happen to be the author of a certain anonymously-penned book?"

He laughed, taking another swallow of wine. She loved seeing him laugh, and loved it all the more when she could make him do it. "Unfortunately, no. I did not write _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_."

"Well, you should write your own book! Update the literature, you know."

"And who would want to read my book?"

"Lots of people!" said Hermione, sitting up straighter. "I would!"

Remus smiled. "Thank you, darling." He stopped short and shook his head, as though to himself, then said, swiftly, before she had a chance to think: "Don't we have more questions to answer on that list of yours?"

Over the nights they'd covered about half the questions, but there were still plenty more. Hermione nodded, glancing through the list. "What are some dreams of yours?"

He glanced out of the window. "That takes me back to the moon again."

She didn't speak, watching him gather his thoughts instead.

"Sometimes I find myself thinking about how wholly, absolutely impossible it is," he said, "for the moon to just disappear, one month. Just one month." He was smiling faintly, looking down into his wine. "And I've dreamed of myriad ways to escape the moon. What if there were magic for me to somehow Apparate and leave this planet once every month? What if I used muggle technology to leave the vicinity of the moon? I think about what it would be like to go beyond the moon. And that, then, reminds me of what it is that the moon _is_ – this thing beyond magic, an object common to muggles, and…that leads me to thinking of the enormity of planets, and space. Our solar system."

Hermione could not think of anything to add. They shared a moment in silence, a silence she had always been comfortable in when it came to Remus. The wine was warming her from the inside, and it even seemed to make her stomach feel a little funny.

"What about you?" His voice was soft and low. She could hear him again in her mind. _Thank you, darling_. He was looking at her and she found herself looking away from those blue-green eyes, which saw entirely too much, she felt.

"My dreams…" she twisted her lips to one side. "They're impractical dreams."

He laughed genially. "Impractical dreams, really? That's new."

It made her smile. "They're trite, then. I have tired, idealistic dreams of harmony. _World peace_, you know." She grimaced. It felt insipid even to say it. But Remus said,

"You're already good at carrying out your dreams, however tired they may seem to you. You may not be as good as designing acronyms, however – I mean, _spew?_ I ask you."

Hermione aimed the parchment bearing the questions at him, and he caught it before it hit him, laughing. He said, soberly, "I meant what I said. You're good at the taking-action part, too, so don't be afraid to dream."

It warmed her that Remus remembered _S.P.E.W._, but it made her think again of how much ground remained to be covered in the struggle for justice. The passage of the Act had done more than show her Umbridge and Rand's bigotry – she had always known about _them_ – but it had revealed how deeply prejudice still ran in society. She could still hear the voices of Hera and Geminus in her head.


	10. Most Charming Smile Awards

**Chapter 10: Most Charming Smile Awards**

More than once at work that week, Hermione found herself wondering what Remus might be up to during the day. Since the War had ended, the Order had not given him any missions. Or had they? She wondered if he was still in touch with the men and women he had spent the war with, trying to convince them to leave Voldemort's side. She wondered whether it had been difficult or beneficial for Remus, living with others who understood what it was to be a werewolf.

From time to time, at work and at home, she returned also to the conversation they'd had. The moon; _this thing beyond magic_, he'd said. This solar system they called their own, everyone, magical or nonmagical. Hadn't the muggles built up a certain kind of magic? Hermione had read widely but hadn't encountered any wizards or witches who had travelled as far into space. She wondered if there was some invisible boundary beyond which magic, or magic alone, could not reach.

She was muggleborn, and grateful for it. She did not feel that she straddled the two worlds; that implied a sort of unbelonging to either. No, she was fortunate to navigate both worlds with equal comfort in each. It was certainly good talking to purely magical people like the Weasleys, and the boys and men she'd dated, like Viktor or Andrew, but sometimes it was nice to have someone who understood that magic hadn't always been her entire world. Harry understood. Remus did, too. Whether it was because of his mother or also from his own experience, she wasn't sure.

It would be three nights from the full moon tonight, Hermione thought, as the end of the workday drew nearer. Remus seemed mostly unaffected, though he'd been somewhat restive yesterday. He'd taken to making her breakfast in the mornings, but was usually gone by the time she sat down to eat. He had, on the whole, been a very pleasant flatmate thus far.

"Off home, then?" Phemea asked, when it was evening. Hermione was waving her wand, packing her things. "Anything fun planned for the weekend?"

"Just a few quiet nights in, I think," Hermione said.

"In bed?" the other witch prodded, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. Hermione only rolled her eyes.

"Prude," scoffed Phemea.

* * *

Arriving home, she found Remus drying his hair with a spell, pearls of water still trickling down across his face and neck into his cotton shirt. "Hello," he greeted her. "How was work?"

"Not bad," Hermione told him, and stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower when he vacated it. There was something mildly odd about the room. She finally put her finger on it when she turned on the water: it smelled like soap and shampoo, but there was no hint of moisture in the air, no steam on the mirror. He'd taken a cold shower, then, and she knew from living with him these past weeks that he usually did not. She made a mental note, adding to her expanding mental list of _How to Tell When The Full Moon's Near_.

She came out to find Remus in the living room, pulling on his cloak. She could smell food from the kitchen.

"Where're you going?"

"To see Horace," he said. "I made dinner, if you're hungry."

"I can wait." She looked at him curiously; he seemed a little flushed, rather than pale. Approaching him, she pressed her palm to his forehead, and he flinched. He was burning up. "Are you ill?"

Remus gave her a look of surprise, and then laughed heartily. "I thought you were a star student, Miss Granger."

"I don't mean – your 'furry little problem'," she said, smiling at his amusement. "I mean, have you got an actual fever?"

"No, no. It's just something that happens around this time." Remus grasped her forearm with a hand to demonstrate. She could feel the heat from his palm and fingers. "Maybe I really ought to write a book. I do think the textbooks have left out too many details."

"Can I come with you?" Hermione gestured toward the door.

Remus shook his head. "No, no. I'll be back soon." He let go of her arm and went to the door. He turned to nod over at the kitchen before he stepped outside. "You really don't have to wait."

There was a piece of salmon and a lot of mixed vegetables. He must have already eaten, she thought, levitating the salmon onto a plate and adding some vegetables. Surely he would want to eat more meat around this time, though?

She'd only had a few bites before Remus got back. He made straight for the shelf to store the new vials he'd gotten from Slughorn, and, standing there, uncorked one and drank it down almost eagerly. He still made a face when he was done.

"Don't you want some meat, Remus?" Hermione asked, contemplatively.

An almost sheepish look passed over his face. "Oh. I – I do _want_ it. But I try not to have it." He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, though he didn't look at her. "It's daft, I think, but for years I've tried to…I don't know. To starve the wolf." Remus laughed. He was still gazing across the room, out of the window.

"Does it work?" She leaned in, intrigued. "Does it help with the restlessness or body temperature or things like that?"

"I think it does, a little. But perhaps that's wishful thinking." He stood again, and made his way over to the sofa instead.

"Remus," she said, swallowing a bite of salmon. "Do you think we could do some Occlumency tonight?"

There was a pause. She wondered whether he had other symptoms so overwhelming that it wasn't a good time. But he said, eventually, "Yes, I think we could."

And so, after supper, when she'd cleared away the dishes, they sat down again, this time facing each other across the dining table.

"I don't know how much you've learned already, or how much Harry's told you––"

"I've read a few books on the subject," Hermione said, readily. "And I've been working on clearing my mind and emotions these past few days."

He nodded, appreciative. "I don't know why I even asked." She grinned. Remus continued, "So – I'll give you a minute or so to prepare, then? Then you'll just look into my eyes. I'll try to – access your mind. I know we think the Ministry will be looking for evidence of other relationships, or pieces of our relationship together, but I can look for something less private, if you'd like."

Hermione thought. "Maybe you could look for childhood memories?" Those were slightly less private, she thought, although of course it was odd to consider anything at all in her mind as 'not private'.

"You remember that Legilimency isn't precise – that it's quite haphazard? I can't guarantee that I wouldn't also – see other thoughts."

"It's fine," she said. She thought she could handle Remus seeing most of the things in her head. In any case, it was better than the Ministry wizard seeing it. She bit her lip.

"We're aiming to achieve just a few seconds of resistance," Remus said. "Just enough time, and then we can look away from the inspector."

Hermione nodded.

"Alright, then," he said. "Well – when you're ready."

She closed her eyes, paying attention to her breathing, trying to clear her mind. "I'm ready."

She opened her eyes, and met Remus' gaze. His pupils were dark though the room wasn't too dim, and she felt a twinge of something in her stomach. She wondered if that was what it felt like to have someone use Legilimency on you. But as soon as she'd thought that, the next second, it felt as though something soared in her heart; and then the room went hazy. For a second, all she could see were Remus' blue eyes; but now she was looking at the inside of a classroom. Her primary school classroom, she realised, with a jolt of recognition. Her teacher was saying something at the front of the room, and she watched as the piece of craft paper on her desk slowly twisted itself into the shape of a swan…

…then, a fuzzy, twisting sensation later, she was back in her seat at the dining table, deep in Remus' eyes. She blinked several times and leaned away from the table.

"Sorry," they both said, at the same time.

"Don't apologise for teaching," she said, as Remus told her,

"Please don't apologise for my intrusion."

They both broke into smiles.

"Alright," Hermione said. "Okay. Let's try again. Did you buy any chocolate?"

"I did," Remus smiled. He offered her a piece of Honeyduke's. "Be careful not to be too happy, though," he said, "any emotion won't do."

Hermione said, "Ready."

They locked eyes. She lasted for three seconds without anything happening, and then broke eye contact, looking up at the ceiling. "Alright," she said. "That was better, wasn't it? Let's go again."

This time, however, it was Hogwarts that swam into focus. There were pixies everywhere. Lockhart was running around helplessly and she felt a painful surge of compassion and adolescent affection in her heart. He really did have an award-winning smile, didn't he, even in the midst of such chaos? And she'd be staying to help him with the pixies––

"Alright," Remus said.

He was still looking at her, but evidently not as a Legilimens, because she was back at the dining table again. She sighed and slumped forward onto the desk in semi-real embarrassment. "Don't ask, please."

"Alright," he said, though he sounded amused.

"It was that bloody smile," she said into the tabletop. She could feel Remus smiling even though she couldn't see him.

"Ah."

"You were a far better teacher, of course." She brought herself to sit up again.

"Thank you." His lips twitched. "Despite the lack of Witch Weekly smile awards under my belt?"

"I like your smile far more," Hermione said, and received one in return. "Shall we try again? And – could you try and look for our interactions this time? I don't want to give anything away that way."

He nodded. She took a moment to notice her breath, again, and clear her mind of the thoughts of Lockhart's and Remus' smiles. She looked up.

There were four or so seconds of respite this time, before the room once again transformed, this time into the French restaurant they had visited just days ago. Remus was leaning in – his lips were at the corner of her mouth.

_No_, she thought, for the first time not just watching the replay. There was something urgent in her chest. _No, he can't see this_. Another part of her mind remarked, idly, that the man himself was in the memory. _He still can't see this!_

It felt, this time, as though it was she who had brought them back to the dining table. She felt a little out of breath and her cheeks felt warm. "Well," she said. "That's…at least that would be a good one for them to see."

"I'm sorry," said Remus. "I think – do you want to stop for now?"

She nodded wordlessly, before managing, "Do you think I've got it, a little?"

"You've done extremely well, Hermione," he said. "Far better than many more experienced witches and wizards." He offered her the rest of the chocolate. "Here. I'm sorry, again – even if we were just practicing. It never feels right to have someone intrude."

She found, that night, that she kept reliving the memories the legilimency had dredged up. And if there was one particular memory she thought of more than others, well, she reasoned, it was only because it was the most recent.


	11. Beast and Being

**Chapter 11: Beast and Being**

A/N: Just a gentle word of caution – I've changed the rating of this story from 'T' to 'M'.

* * *

He always did receive a mixture of reactions when walking through Ministry of Magic offices. Some people smiled; some stared and whispered; others, of course, did not know him. There had been a significant increase in the first two groups of people since the war. But the witches and wizards who staffed the Werewolf Registry were almost always either impassive or malicious.

The Registry had sent him a letter asking him to come in for a routine appointment. He felt as though he were on parole. Midway through the purportedly standard appointment, the Ministry wizard lifted a page of Remus' record and drawled, "Engaged, are we?"

It was the sort of tone that instantly informed you there would be no felicitations forthcoming.

"Yes, I am," said Remus, lightly.

A sneer. "She must be very, ah, _liberal_."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Remus responded, his tone perfectly pleasant.

The wizard's lips twitched in a very unpleasant manner. He asked, "Does the happy couple plan to have children?"

"Is that any of your business?"

"Mongrels should be." The wizard narrowed his eyes, goading him, no doubt. It was far too obvious. Remus had to laugh.

"I must congratulate Dolores and Nyrian. They really have hired a staff in their own image."

The wizard stared at him for a moment longer. Remus didn't look away. He was used to it. True, for a period he had dared to hope that it really was getting better. But under Fudge, the approach had been an odd artificial blindness to the reality of werewolves. (Remus would never forget the Werewolf Registry witch during the Fudge era, clutching his bulky file while asking, "Oh, are you a werewolf, then?") Now, under the supervision of Umbridge and Rand, the Ministry was returning to a time-honoured form of outright prejudice.

When Remus failed to rise to any of the bait, the wizard reluctantly let him go.

As he turned down the corridor into the Magical Laws division, he saw with delight a head of familiar brown hair. Smiling, he lengthened his strides until he reached Hermione.

"Hello," he murmured beside her ear. She started.

"Remus! What are you doing here?" She beamed up at him.

The witch and wizard Hermione had been speaking to looked rather frosty, Remus noticed. But Hermione seemed to be pointedly ignoring them.

"Just had an appointment," he said. "Are you off to lunch with your colleagues?"

The witch beside Hermione was certainly regarding him with disdain.

"Would you like to join? I can reschedule with them," Hermione said, coolly, still not looking at her colleagues.

"Oh, no. We can do another day. I'll see you at home."

Remus had just turned and taken several steps away when he heard the witch say, in what may have been meant to be a low voice, "_That is what we wanted to talk to you about, Hermione._"

He heard the wizard chime in. "Yes. It's not too late. Don't do it."

"And _I've_ said I don't want to hear about it," Hermione said, firmly.

Remus kept walking. He didn't need to hear it.

"Werewolves are _monsters_," snapped the witch. She wasn't trying to be quiet anymore. "We may not be friends, but I have to warn even _you_ about that."

He kept walking.

The wizard said, "They're heartless beasts, Hermione."

Hermione said, hotly, "He has more heart than almost anyone I know!"

The witch said, in a voice dripping with spite, "Fine! Ruin your life then, you werewolf-loving whore. I suppose it hardly matters, since you're a mudblood anyway."

Remus whipped around and had his wand pointed at the witch almost before he was aware of doing it. He strode quickly toward her, the hand gripping his wand trembling with anger. He could feel the anger swarming in him as though his body had become a hive of bees. "Apologise to her," he spat. When she didn't say a word, her face contorted with fear and hatred, he bellowed, "_Apologise!_" Somewhere in the red haze, he knew he was acting dangerously; but the moon was near and the beast in him, if there was one, did not care.

"Remus, _no_," Hermione said, grabbing his wrist. "Remus, please, no." He stared at her fingers on his skin. The beast in him split between fury and hunger.

"Apologise," he repeated, teeth clenched, his voice shaking with the effort to control the rage that had erupted inside him at the witch's words, "_before I hex you––_"

"_Sorry_," she hissed out at Hermione.

"Remus," Hermione said, tugging at his arm. He lowered it. The witch and wizard gave him looks of fear and disgust.

"_Monster_," spat the wizard, before tugging the witch away from him. Remus stared after them, anger still pulsing through his veins. He could easily hit them from here. He wouldn't even need his wand. He––

"Remus, it's alright. Come – come with me. Come on." Hermione was pulling him down the hall. She pulled him into an empty office, probably her own, and closed the door behind them. Breathing hard, Remus sat down heavily in a nearby chair and buried his face in his hands, fisted his hands in his hair.

Hermione said, quietly, "First, thank you. I appreciate what you were trying to do." She moved to stand beside him. "But it's okay, Remus. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can––" he said, his voice rough, straightening to find her eyes.

"I know," she said. "You know." She was stroking his back. The beast was subsiding in wrath, but now the hunger leapt in his stomach. He forced it down. He could do this. He hadn't lost himself like this, even near the full moon, for years.

"I'm sorry," he said, eventually. There was a sick feeling in his stomach.

"Don't be," Hermione said at once.

"I should go." He stood abruptly. How could he have lost control like that? In front of Hermione? _Those bastards were asking for it_, the beast snarled.

But Hermione put her arms around his neck and hugged him. He held her, gently at first and then more tightly, and shut his eyes.

* * *

Remus had nearly taken the step forward to Apparate by the time she caught up with him and grabbed him by the arm. They had discussed the plan for tonight before, but the events earlier in the day had made Remus adamant for her not to spend the full moon with him.

"Please, Remus," she said. He was refusing to look at her. She kept her grip on his elbow. "Let me go with you. It'll be fine. You've taken the wolfsbane and everything."

"We haven't got to do _everything_ together," Remus snarled, not moving, no doubt not wishing to Apparate with Hermione holding on to him. "You've haven't got to see – everything."

Somehow, Hermione didn't think he would be very receptive to arguments that she cared for him at the moment. So she tried to appeal to logic and necessity.

"I need to know in case the Ministry asks me," she said. "Do you really think they wouldn't ask about this? I need to know what you do, what you feel, what I can do."

Remus looked furious. For a moment, he said nothing, and Hermione was almost afraid he'd do something drastic again. She'd only been with him that one full moon during her third year; she'd had no time then to wonder if that fierce brightness in his eyes had something to do with the wolf.

"Alright," he snapped, finally. "Fine. You win, Hermione."

Her heart sank. "Remus, it's not like that…"

He shook his head tersely and she fell silent. After a long pause, he spoke with an effort. His voice was soft.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I know you want the best for me."

Hermione squeezed his arm gently in response. She gave him a tentative smile, then stepped beside him. Remus wrapped an arm around her waist. All the fury seemed to have left him. He pulled her in close, much closer than he had done whenever they'd Apparated together before. His entire body was radiating so much heat that she could feel it through her clothes; it felt almost like holding her palm too close above her cauldron in Potions.

When Remus inhaled deeply, she looked up. His pupils seemed unmistakeably more dilated than usual, and it made him look quite tempting, she thought. There was a flush in his cheeks again, quite a contrast to his usual tired, pallid post-transformation demeanour.

"How come you weren't like this the first time – and the last time, I suppose – I saw you transform?" Hermione reached out, curiously, and laid her palm against his cheek to test the temperature of his skin. Remus' eyes fluttered shut at the touch and she caught her breath, something liquid squirming pleasantly in her stomach, when he turned his face infinitesimally so that the corner of his lips grazed the base of her thumb.

When he opened his eyes again, they were a darker hue than she had ever seen them. "Weren't…weren't like what?" He had to clear his throat. Hermione lowered her hand and watched him, surprised, her brain whirring – a welcome distraction from the flipping motions her stomach seemed determined to perform instead. What had Remus said were his symptoms? Restiveness, body temperature, and other carnal things. Somehow, she'd assumed the latter to mean hunger. The textbooks certainly hadn't mentioned libido.

_The textbooks were written for schoolchildren, _she reminded herself. _And Remus has said they're missing many details._

"Like this," she said. "So, you know, heated."

The look of embarrassment that passed over Remus' face told her all she needed to know. "The circumstances," he managed, clearing his throat again when his voice emerged sounding rather gravelly. "The symptoms depend to some extent on v…various circumstances." Hermione had never witnessed a Remus Lupin so nearly incoherent.

_The circumstances_. A very diplomatic euphemism for what she thought he probably meant: that last time, there had not been a sexually available candidate residing in such close quarters with him.

For a moment, she entertained the idea of sleeping with Remus to assuage the apparently intense lust that had gradually taken hold of him, but it was only for a moment. It wouldn't be right at all. He would likely regret it afterward. And – and not only that, of course. She didn't _want_ to have sex with him. That was, she wouldn't _mind_ sleeping with him, she'd come to find Remus surprisingly fit now she thought about it at all, but…she didn't _fancy_ him, after all. Hermione gave her head a tiny shake.

"Ah," she said, in response to his vague answer. She did not press with further questions. But she couldn't resist patting him affectionately on the stomach. Remus made an odd little sound in his throat and seemed to try to angle his lower body away from her. It took all of her willpower not to glance down.

"So," said Remus, swallowing audibly, his breathing rather shallow. "I'll take us there now, shall I?"

Together, they took a step forward and disappeared with a _crack_.


	12. Promises to Keep

**Chapter 12: Promises to Keep**

There it was again, then. How he hated, and loved, in small part, the sight of this place. Its overgrown yard, the boarded-up windows, the plain grey walls. The trees had grown in around it, almost entirely shrouding the roof in moss and leaf. Behind the semi-derelict cottage, the forest loomed, foreboding silhouettes against the darkening sky.

"We should hurry," Remus said, in a tight, clipped voice. He could feel it coming on. He pulled his arm away from Hermione and moved quickly toward the house.

She asked, hesitantly, "Where are we?"

"Yorkshire." Remus had taken his wand out and was casting the usual spells to ward off and distract anyone, magical or not, who might somehow pass this way. It was unlikely, of course, that anyone would come near here. It was why he had chosen this property. "I used to live here."

He finished the spells and went swiftly to the plain wooden door. He touched his wand to the lock, then pushed the door open, held it, gestured for Hermione to go in. "Come on."

She entered. Remus followed her in, making sure the door was locked. He wanted to be alone. He had to focus his mind. She was distracting him, simply by being there.

Remus made a sweeping gesture and the various lamps around the house lit up, bathing the ceiling and walls and all the worn furniture in a warm yellow light that looked far too tranquil for what was coming. He turned to Hermione, who was standing uncertainly in the middle of the small living room, and said, "I don't want you to see me––" He broke off.

"I've seen you," she said, softly. "It'll be…it'll be safe, won't it?"

Yes, it would be safe. He'd taken the potion. He would not become a savage, mindless beast tonight.

But the fear was always there, every time, potion or not.

"I don't want to take even the slightest risk." He was silent for a moment. "Lock me into the bedroom, will you? I'll let you know if you can let me out."

Hermione nodded. Her curls were spilling over one shoulder and he wanted to brush her hair back, touch her again, feel that kick in his stomach again. The look in her eyes absorbed him; when had that happened?

"Come on, then," he said, again. He went into the bedroom and held the door open a few inches. "Locked," Remus said. He closed the door.

He heard Hermione say, "_Colloportus._"

He whispered, as though in response, "_Silencio totalum_."

* * *

Hermione couldn't hear anything from the bedroom. Not one creak or thud or sound of pain. She wondered if Remus was alright. Walking back into the living room and over to the window, she could see the full moon, vivid in the night sky. She was fond of celestial objects, stars and planets (despite a lingering distaste for Divination), but tonight, knowing as she did that Remus was suffering in the next room, this moon looked somehow menacing.

There was a quiet thump on the bedroom door. She hurried back over and said, "Remus?" She held her wand at her side. "Um – knock – knock twice if I can come in."

There were two quiet thumps. Hermione said, "_Alohomora_," and gently pushed the door open, readying herself for what she would find. The room was very tidy. In one corner, she saw Remus' clothes laid neatly on top of a plain writing desk. Those were the first things she noticed, somehow. Then she saw Remus.

There he was.

Somehow, unbidden, all Hermione could think in that moment was: _shorter snout, tufted tail, more human eyes_.

His eyes regarded her with unmistakable intelligence. They were Remus' eyes through and through. She did not really understand why she thought this; they were wolf's eyes, a rich amber or gold, nothing like blue. But she did feel that way.

"Hey," Hermione said, at last, breaking into a smile, relieved to see that he was unhurt. She knew he could not speak, and resolved not to ask him any questions. Instead, she perched comfortably on the edge of the bed and just smiled at him. Remus, in turn, lay down. She couldn't help but examine him. The fur looked soft and thick and shiny and she felt an urge to touch him, yet knew that she didn't want to do it wrong. She thought of Sirius, then, in his playful canine form, tongue lolling. She wondered how they'd interacted, how they'd played, gambolled carefree and joyful in the depths of the Forbidden Forest. She found herself wishing it was something she could do for Remus.

Could it be freeing, in any way? With the wolfsbane, with no chance of being discovered, could the experience be made at least a little positive?

She stood, and said, without much prior thought, "I'm going for a walk in the woods. Care to join me?"

Remus' eyes widened. Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile and marched out of the room. She heard him following her, and hurried to reach the front door before he could block her off. Very reluctantly, Remus followed her out of the house.

Hermione locked the front door and made for the forest at the back of the house. Away from the city, the night was far from silent. Some birds whose names she had never learned were warbling their little hearts out in the dark.

"'The woods are lovely, dark and deep,'" she said, to Remus. She imagined that he smiled in response. The leaves on the forest floor crunched quietly and satisfyingly beneath their feet (all six of them, she thought). The moonlight gave everything an ethereal tinge, but the birdsong anchored them firmly in this world. On a whim, she lifted her wand. "_Expecto patronum_." Silvery and graceful, her otter swam into being through the night air. It made her feel better, to be able to accompany Remus in animal form in some small way. She could not be James, or Sirius, or even Peter. But perhaps she didn't need to be.

When they returned to the cottage, it was nearly two in the morning. Remus curled up on the floor of the bedroom and Hermione sat beside him, tired, feeling oddly content. She could still smell the fresh forest air, could feel its cold cleanness in her lungs.

"I'll leave you in here, then," she said. "I expect you'll need to dress in the morning." She smiled. Remus closed his eyes and gave a small, slow shake of his head, and she laughed. "Goodnight." She did not want to pat him on the head, so she reached out and laid her hand on his. It was the first time she had touched him all night. He was warm and the fur on his paw was as soft and luxurious as she'd imagined. Unable to resist, she stroked the side of his muzzle. Remus shut his eyes and she was reminded of earlier that night, when she'd touched his cheek. She felt very warm inside.

* * *

Hermione awoke to joyous birdsong. It took her a moment to realise that it had not been the birds who'd woken her, but rather a sound from the next room. Rubbing the sleep from her face, she got up from the armchair and went to the bedroom. Remus, very much human again, pale as usual after the moon, appeared rather beleaguered as he attempted to button his shirt. He glanced up and saw her at the door. "Oh – er, I'm not done," he said, weakly pulling his shirt together. Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed the door further open, stepping into the room.

"You've got your trousers on, haven't you? And I was thinking – now is probably as good a time as any to learn each other's bodies for the inspection."

When Remus looked extremely alarmed, she clarified, "I mean, knowing each others' scars and birthmarks, you know, that sort of thing."

He winced. "I've so many scars, it'd be more impressive if you knew where I _didn't_ have any."

"Here," she said, stepping closer to him. "I'll start, then. Mine's easy." She lifted the hem of her shirt just enough to expose her waist. "I have one birthmark on the left side of my waist. It's not really shaped like anything."

Remus leaned in slightly to examine her side.

"It's shaped like a heart," he declared.

She frowned. "What? No, it's not."

He smiled. "Yes, it is. A human heart, mind you, not the symbol."

Hermione examined her own birthmark, which she'd never really considered apart from the fact of its existence, and found that Remus was quite right. It was either just a formless spot or a human heart. The latter sounded rather nicer.

"My turn, I suppose?" Remus asked, warily, sitting back again. "Must I? I'm quite hideous, I'm afraid."

"I've seen your body as a _wolf_, Remus," Hermione said, gently. "While I…still saw you through your eyes. I think that proves how little it matters what this physical body of ours looks like. In any case, you're _not_ hideous."

He gave a noncommittal shake of his head. Then he unbuttoned the one button he had managed to do, and, wincing, removed the shirt. His skin was fair, his chest and stomach tight without being brawny. Four long, pale scars took centre place, starting an inch below his collarbone and ending midway down his stomach. The other scars were thinner, or shorter, the pale ghosts of past wounds making a map on his skin. They were on his back, too, his shoulder blade marred with the unmistakeable imprint of an animal's teeth.

"You're not," Hermione repeated, because he wasn't. She helped him put his shirt back on, and buttoned it for him when she found that his hands were still weak from the transformation. "I think you're – strong." She met his gaze, wanting him to know her sincerity. His eyes were blue again, but just as intense in this hue as any other.

"You are." Remus did not look away. Then, as though it took him an immense effort to speak, he said, "Thank you, Hermione, for last night."

Hermione could not imagine what it had been like for him, transforming alone all those many months, in all those many years.

She hugged him; his hand found the small of her back.


	13. Mere Thought

**Chapter 13: Mere Thought**

He was heavy. Hermione supposed she should have expected it from a six-foot-two man. Trying to maintain her balance, she managed to support Remus out of the cottage and slowly down the front yard. His face was pale, faint perspiration visible on his forehead. She swept his hair back for him and gave him a smile. He seemed quite unwell, given the way he remained leaning on her even when they stood still, but managed to give her a faint smile in return.

"Hold tight," she told him.

When they had Disapparated back to the flat and finally made it inside, Remus slumped against the wall while Hermione locked the door. She turned to find him struggling to extricate his wand from a pocket.

"What do you need?" she asked, her own wand at the ready.

"Bed," he mumbled, tilting his head vaguely toward the space in the living room where he customarily conjured up his bed.

"I'll do that later," Hermione said. "Don't be ridiculous. Let's get you some rest as soon as possible." She put an arm round his waist again and helped him into the bedroom, where she'd slept alone for the past weeks. Perhaps it was a sign of how far gone Remus was that he made no protest when she guided him to the bed. He sank onto it with a groan and slowly stretched out, conveniently taking the side Hermione didn't sleep on. Hermione had to remove his shoes for him; he'd shut his eyes and seemed to have gone out like a light.

Remus had said that he usually spent the entire day after the full moon in bed. He was true to his word. She woke him around supper time to hand him a mug.

"Slughorn's potion," she said. The recovery-aid potion seemed a much more pleasant concoction than the Wolfsbane, and Remus drank it down gratefully, his throat working. "You must be parched," she remarked, refilling the mug with water. He nodded and took several large gulps. "Hungry?"

"Not really."

He did share a few bites of her pasta, though, when she offered him a forkful. Still weak, he closed his fingers over her own on the fork and leaned in slightly even as she guided it into his mouth. She could feel his hand trembling a little.

"I won't be as useless tomorrow," he said, guardedly, as though he had read her mind.

"_Remus_," Hermione said reproachfully. "Your body's just gone and turned into a – a great, big, wolf body, and back again, in the space of a night. I think you're allowed some down time."

Remus' eyebrows went up, but he did appear relaxed again. "You know just what to say," he said, lips twitching.

"What? 'Great big wolf body'?" Hermione repeated, laughing. "Is there any better way to characterise it?"

When she re-entered the dark bedroom later that night, having washed up and turned off all the lights in the flat, she saw that Remus was asleep again, his back toward her. She carefully sat down on her side of the bed and reached between their pillows to extricate the novel she'd been reading. His breathing continued, slow and deep and steady, so she sat back against the headboard and quietly lit the bedside lamp just enough to read without damaging her eyes.

She awoke having somehow gotten under the covers. Blinking, she saw that Remus was still asleep beside her, on his back now, albeit still atop the covers. His profile looked tranquil. The bed was wide enough that there was a distance between their bodies, and, looking down, she noticed that he'd wedged a pillow between them, as though it were to act as some sort of miniature barrier. Hermione had to bite her lip as she pictured Remus discovering her presence in the middle of the night and then hastily reaching for a pillow.

She woke him with her laughter, silent though it was.

"Morning," she whispered. "Sorry about falling asleep here. I see you've taken appropriate measures, however." She nodded down between them. A sheepish expression crossed Remus' face.

"Ah, well, yes," he said, clearing his throat. "I didn't want – you know – accidentally, anything." He pushed himself into a sitting position. "Thanks for letting me sleep in here."

"No need at all," Hermione said, firmly. "Are you feeling any better?"

He nodded. "I think so." He got out of bed, standing, appearing much less weak indeed than he had been the previous day. His shirt and trousers were thoroughly creased, his hair mussed, a lighter blonde against the sunlight filtering through the curtains. "Going to have a shower," he said, rubbing a hand across his cheeks. He looked quite good unshaven. "You get more sleep."

Gazing up at the ceiling when he'd left the room, she wondered whether the sprinkling of grey in Remus' hair might be a hint of the wolf rather than mere age.

* * *

On Monday, instead of going home after work, Hermione Apparated outside the grounds of Hogwarts. She'd last been here about a month ago, to visit Hagrid with Harry and Ron. She wasn't here to see Hagrid this time, however.

Hermione made her way along the sixth floor hallway until she eventually reached the polished office door she was looking for. It felt like years since she'd come here for the Christmas party and spent much of it hiding from McLaggen.

"Who is it?" came a faint voice. She knocked again and, leaning in, called,

"It's Hermione Granger."

"Miss Granger!" The door flew open, revealing a beaming Horace Slughorn. She was glad to see that he had truly returned to his jovial self. "What an absolute pleasure. Yes, yes, I recall now, you sent me a message yesterday…"

"Yes, I did," she said, walking in when he gave a little bow accompanied by a grand flourishing gesture for her to enter. "Thanks for having me."

"Of course, my dear. Anything to drink? I've some tea, coffee, Butterbeer, mead – bought it myself, of course – juice, lemonade…"

"Just some tea, thank you."

Slughorn made the tea, adding a generous splash of liquor to his own, and looking only mildly disappointed when Hermione declined to make the same addition. They settled into two of the armchairs that graced the spacious office, and after a satisfied blow, sip, and lip-smacking, Slughorn asked, "What is it you wanted to ask me?"

Hermione said, "I wanted to – and I know it's tremendously difficult – but I was just wondering whether you could teach me how to brew the Wolfsbane potion."

He looked taken aback. "Wolfsbane potion?" Then he looked anxious. "If you have need of it, I would be perfectly happy to brew as much as you require––"

"Oh, it's not for me," she said. Then she remembered that nobody else knew she and Remus were engaged. "It's – well – it's for a friend, and also I thought it would be useful to know."

"It _is_ enormously complicated."

She nodded.

"But I think you could do it." Slughorn drained his cup and set it down with a faint clatter. "I recall you were one of the best in the class, after Mr. Potter, of course, such a fine mind for potions, that one, takes after his mother…but not to digress, I do think you could master it." He observed her owlishly, then added, "It would take commitment, of course. It would require regular lessons."

"I can do that. I can come here after work every day. Or – well, as often as you'll teach me."

Slughorn smiled. "Won't your 'friend' miss you at home?"

As Hermione left Hogwarts, she wondered how much the man had guessed. Had he simply guessed that she must have been spurred to action out of more than mere friendship? Or did he know or suspect that it was Remus? It couldn't have been the latter, she decided. He would have had a much bigger reaction.

_And I _would_ do the same for 'mere' friendship_, she argued with herself. She'd do the same if Harry or Ron needed her. She truly would. So why didn't this stop her mind's insistent questioning?

_I could go and see McGonagall next time, too_, she thought, unbidden. _She knows about being an Animagus._

_And why_, retorted that certain part of her mind, snidely, _would you suddenly want to become an Animagus, after years of never considering such an idea?_

_It's only what Padfoot and Prongs did for their friend! What I would do for Harry or Ginny or Ron!_

_Sure, sure. Admit it, you _love_ him, don't you?_

Of course she loved him! She'd always cared for Remus. So she loved him – the way she'd always loved her oldest friends, of course. Hermione resolutely put an end to the chain of thought. Trust her own brain to provide all these insinuations.

_What would it be like, though?_

Her mind had changed its tune, switched tracks. And she tried to head it off, but it was like trying to restrain a freight train, knowing all the while how it ended––

_What would it be like to really be with Remus?_

What would it be like to really kiss him?

For the first time, she thought about Remus putting his arms about her, genuinely, leaning in and pressing his mouth to hers, squarely and firmly and not just on the corner of her lips, kissing her the way she'd kissed Viktor and Andrew and even McLaggen––

Merlin, what was she doing?

_Being ridiculous_, she thought, firmly, though shaken by the intensity of the mere thought. _Being absolutely ridiculous and getting myself in more trouble the more I think about this. _She'd reached the front door of their flat. She entered. It smelled excellent, again. Remus was taking her bag and her coat, and she was not – she was _not_––

He turned and smiled at her, and she _was_. She looked at his lips and pictured it.

_What would it be like?_

A jolt of electricity made her eyes leap up to meet his. This was it, wasn't it? She'd thought too much, and her thoughts had made things real. He'd seen her. Looking.


	14. Bridge, Crossing

**Chapter 14: Bridge, Crossing**

Remus inquired, cheerfully, "How was your day?"

Rather than face Hermione, he turned and busied himself with the stove.

"It – It was good." She did sound a little strange. He could hear her moving off in the direction of the bathroom. "How was yours?"

"Alright," he called back.

It had, in truth, been a somewhat eventful day. In the morning he'd been to see McGonagall, and learned that she could be able to bring him back soon, provided he passed a period of probation. The Board of Governors would probably vote on it in the next few weeks.

Then, in the afternoon, he had received an owl from Wade, the first contact from the wizard in months. Mathieu Wade was one of the men Remus had met while working for the Order. He was part of a werewolf pack Remus had been close with. In the time between the end of the war and the Umbridge-Rand Act, however, Remus had not heard from these wizards or witches at all. He'd sent an owl out several times after the passage of the Act, asking whether they had been notified, whether they had any plans.

Wade's note was short and unsigned:

_We're as usual. On the move. Stop sending owls; don't need the attention. _

_No particular plans. Might try the Continent, but who knows._

Perhaps they wanted to go to France, where Wade had spent time in the past. They'd be safe there, or in several other countries – if they made it that far. All werewolves, even (or especially) nomadic packs, were listed in the Registry and tracked by Ministry wizards, and there were strict travel limitations set by the International Confederation of Wizards. Remus had thought about this a lot, searching for another way. He did not have much hope Wade and the others could make it.

Hermione came back into the kitchen. She'd changed into more comfortable clothing, and taken her hair down from the bun she'd worn to work. She also seemed to be studiously avoiding his eyes.

Well, good. He did not want to deal with – whatever it had been that she was thinking earlier. It had surely only been a funny look, and that was all.

Casting about for a subject to break the unusual air of awkwardness in the kitchen, Remus asked, "Well…what's left on the list we have to learn?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder as he brushed past her to get to his seat, which caused her to start almost violently. He frowned. Her cheeks went pink.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, what do we have left to learn, you know, from that list you made?"

"Oh," Hermione said. "Um." She waved her wand. The parchment flew into her hand, thwacking Remus rather comically on the head as it did so, but Hermione did not seem to notice. "Um…past relationships."

Remus heartily regretted having brought up the subject of the list.

"Oh," he said. "Perhaps another night?"

But a familiar look of determination, one he had grown both fond and fearful of over the past few weeks, was settling across Hermione's clear features. Her cheeks were still flushed, but she was looking at him now. "Let's – let's do it now. If you don't mind."

Remus paused, then sighed. "Alright." He supposed they would have to finish the list sooner or later. "Past relationships. My first was a girl I fancied in Hogwarts. It didn't get far. I was terrified, you know, that she'd find out."

Hermione looked sympathetic. He pushed on, despite a biting melancholy nagging at his heart.

"After the first war…between the wars…I worked odd jobs. I did meet women. But I'd already decid – none of them were people I could – I couldn't tell any of them what I was. The longest relationship I ever had was a year. When I was still naïve enough to believe I could have a normal relationship."

"Remus," Hermione said, quietly.

"No, it's alright," he said. "I had friends. Well – you know." James and Lily had died, and then, so cruelly, Sirius and Peter, and later Sirius once again. He had had friends after that, yes, but not bosom friends.

But he'd survived, hadn't he? He was fine.

Hermione placed a hand on his and squeezed. He swallowed hard, not daring to look up just yet.

"You have friends," she said, quietly. "You've lots of people who care about you." There was an urgent warmth in her voice. "I'm sorry for bringing this up now," Hermione said. She stood and went around the kitchen table, and hugged him from the side.

"It's alright." Remus smiled, rubbing a palm along her arm. "Don't worry about me. Why don't we hear about you now? Hopefully you have happier tales than mine."

"We needn't talk about this…"

"I insist." His smile felt genuine now. And he was interested. What kind of man did Hermione Granger like? What kind of man was good enough for her?

He listened as she spoke of boys and men. A lad she'd known from her childhood. Viktor Krum. Some fellow named McLaggen. Farzin, an intern at Gringotts. Then Andrew, the one he'd met.

"He was a little old for you, wasn't he?" Remus asked, picking at his food. "The last one. Andrew, whatever his name was."

Hermione laughed. "What d'you mean? You're about his age."

"And I'm much too old for you," he reminded her.

She stopped laughing and shook her head. "No. No, he wasn't too old for me. I had far more in common with him, and we got along far better than I ever did with Cormac. McLaggen, the aggressive snogger back at Hogwarts," she added, when he looked blank.

He smiled. "Right, him."

"And – we get along, don't we?" Her tone was casual. She was playing with her fork.

"We do," he said, guardedly, uncertain where she wanted to take this.

But what Hermione said next, unexpectedly, was, "I don't think I've ever 'fallen in love'. Not in the way the books and movies describe it, at least. I really liked Viktor, but…it wasn't all that dizzy, swooning stuff."

"You'll find it." He hoped she would; hoped she would succeed where he never would. He himself had never fallen in love before, and did not plan on ever doing so.

"My parents did," she said, sounding both wistful and glad at once.

"Speaking of your parents," Remus said, slowly, "I was thinking of what we would do if the Ministry asks why they aren't at the wedding. We'll just say they don't approve of the marriage."

Hermione looked conflicted.

"We could invi––"

"No," he said. "They never have to know about this. About me. I'll have it annulled as soon as I possibly can."

Hermione was silent for a moment. She stood and waved their used plates into the sink, clearing the table. When Remus stood, too, she spoke.

"They wouldn't disapprove, you know. If – if we were really getting married."

He knew what she was trying to do, and was grateful to her. But he could never marry anyone. No woman deserved to suffer beside him.

* * *

Her heart ached for him. The melancholy she'd glimpsed in Remus, the loneliness she could picture, all of it made her want to touch him, to let him know how much she cared for him – and she cared so much.

Whatever it was that she had felt earlier, the physical attraction, a mere crush born of days of proximity or otherwise, Hermione knew how _much_ she felt for him. Whether it reached beyond mere friendship she did not know, but she could not deny that she felt it.

The week seemed to fly by. Hermione seemed to be spending an increasing proportion of time worrying about her feelings for Remus. She spent too much time thinking about him, too: his past, his present, and what he thought about.

What he thought about her. _If_ he thought about her.

If what she felt was the ridiculous remnant of some schoolgirl crush.

She didn't think so; she had never felt this way before, not even (or especially not) about Lockhart. But she didn't like the alternative, which was frightening, which was that she was – falling – she wasn't.

If she was going to Slughorn's office diligently every Tuesday and Thursday, it was because she would do the same for any one of her close friends. And if she had seriously considered ways to get by with holding a mandrake leaf in her mouth for an entire month, a requirement for becoming an Animagus, it was...it was for the same reason.


	15. Six Impossible Things

**Chapter 15: Six Impossible Things**

At work, Hermione started to hear her colleagues talking about the Ministry inspections pursuant to the Dangerous Magical Creatures Act. Hera, who had not once spoken to Hermione since the confrontation with Remus, seemed to take particular relish in relaying details of the latest inspections which turned out unfavourably for the inspectee. Hermione walked into a meeting room on Tuesday afternoon to find the witch talking about yet another inspection.

"Just heard from Hubert," Hera was saying, casting Hermione a look full of spite as she walked in, "that he rounded up another creature."

"Vampire, again?" asked the wizard Hera was speaking to.

"No," Hera said. "Werewolf, this time. Tried to pass herself off as employed, and failed miserably. Pitiful, really. Hubert saw right through her."

"Has Hickering found _any_one responsible yet?" The wizard looked amused. "He's a tough bastard."

"Oh, yes. _Nothing_ gets by him." Hera gave Hermione another malicious look. Hermione only stared back, but inside she was growing anxious; it was Hickering who would be inspecting her and Remus.

Remus. _Remus_. The only time she seemed able to put him from her mind these days was during her wolfsbane lessons with Slughorn. And that didn't count because the lessons were for him, weren't they?

She'd grown to know him better and she liked what she'd learned. She liked him now in a different way than she'd liked him before. And she was, undeniably, attracted to him. If only she weren't engaged to him. If only they did not need to be in this false relationship. She did not dare disturb what connection they had built. No doubt if she made any approach to him, Remus would somehow see it as his duty to leave. She could hear his words: _I am a werewolf, too poor for you, and too old…I am sorry I ever went along with this plan, sorry to have caused you these feelings._

She could not let her feelings compromise Remus' life. They'd get through the inspection, they'd see the Act repealed, and after that, if she still felt this way – if _he_ could ever feel this way about her – then that would be the time. Not now. There was too much at stake now.

* * *

A boggart had found its way into the flat. It was currently residing in the cabinet in the living room. Remus had been about to dismiss it, but paused, wand halfway raised. Perhaps Hermione would like a go. He smiled, thinking of her, wondering what form the boggart would take now. She was not that young schoolgirl anymore; she was no longer the brightest witch of her age he'd ever known. She was, simply, one of the brightest witches he'd ever known. And one of the kindest, too; there was a warmth in her that reminded him of Lily.

Yet he did not feel about her the way he had felt about Lily. Lily had been one of his closest friends, and he had loved her in that way. As for Hermione – he loved her – in what way, he did not think about. It would not do anyone any good to think about it. Whatever she was now, she would always be younger than him, beautiful, deserving someone who was not him.

Hermione returned home late, and had already had dinner, as she'd said she would. He waited until she'd changed and come back into the living room before saying, smiling,

"We've got a boggart with us."

As if on cue, the cabinet shuddered. Hermione's mouth fell open.

"Did you get it on purpose?"

Remus laughed. "No, I didn't. But seeing how pleased you are, perhaps I should have." For Hermione's eyes were shining with a familiar enthusiasm that he'd grown to love.

She came over and sat down on the arm of the sofa, leaning up beside him, gazing at the cabinet. "Did you save it for me?"

He grinned. "That I did."

Hermione beamed. "A chance to redeem myself for that old boggart in the trunk."

Remus teased, good-naturedly, "Sure you're up to the task?"

She laughed, giving his arm a joking push. "Please."

"If it's still Minerva McGonagall and a set of failing grades, I'm really not sure you could handle it."

"If that happens, luckily I have an expert here to save me," she said. If he hadn't known better, if it weren't Hermione, Remus would've thought it quite a flirtatious tone.

Then Hermione flicked her wand and the cabinet doors opened. The smile was instantly wiped from her face.

* * *

The boggart had become Remus.

Remus – the boggart – was curled up on the floor, and was clearly in considerable pain. Her heart suddenly hammering in her chest, she looked wildly over at the real Remus and saw that his smile was gone, too, replaced by an expression of blank shock. She tried to get a hold of herself, and lifted her wand.

"_Riddikulus_," she tried.

But the boggart only turned into her mother, face etched with disapproval as she stepped forward toward her daughter. Hermione felt her chest growing tight, her fingers cold and numb around her wand. She didn't know what she was feeling anymore.

Remus stepped in front of her, and the boggart became the full moon. He said, his voice very strained, "_Riddikulus_." The moon became a crystal ball, which fell to the floor, and smashed. But it seemed neither of them could muster a laugh. Remus forced the boggart back into the cabinet. It struggled inside for a moment.

Then there was a complete, ringing silence in the room.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at him. He couldn't know that she had feelings for him – that she had gone and ruined it all by complicating it with – by complicating it all. She was still shocked, herself, by the boggart's revelation, by the barefaced confirmation of what had until then been safely held in her head.

She made her excuses in a strange voice she did not recognise as her own. Remus did not try to laugh it off, and he didn't stop her when she went to the bedroom. She lay on the bed awake, and thought about the boggart. She could see it, etched into her memory: Remus, so palpable, so frighteningly real.

Why had she panicked like that? Why didn't she hide it better? What if Remus left because of it, because he'd seen how much she thought of him?

Hermione rose and went, mouth dry, to check that Remus had not left. He was still sitting on the sofa, his back to her. She didn't dare get closer.

* * *

She was back at home. "I've made dinner," her mother said to her.

But she had already eaten, and she told her mother this. Her mother looked hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Because it was too late, she said. It was much too late, and she was tired; she didn't even remember why Johannesburg mattered. She would certainly tell her next time.

She didn't know Johannesburg had woods like this one. In fact, it looked exactly like the forest outside Remus' Yorkshire cottage. And there it was, the cottage, only it looked brand new, spruced up, as if someone was living there. Someone _was_ living there – there were lights visible through the front windows. She hurried up. She would be late otherwise, and that wasn't polite.

"Hermione! Welcome," said Arthur Weasley. "We were just waiting for you. Fleur said you needed the leaf of a mandrake?"

Ron was there, and said that he had a mandrake, if she needed it. But why didn't she help him and Harry with the noise when they were re-potting it?

I'm sorry, she told them, guilty. I'd help you, you know that.

Remus is here, Harry said. She could see that he was right. She could see into the dining room of the Burrow, and Remus was sitting there, kissing a witch. She wondered who it was. She asked Harry, but he and Ron were having trouble with the mandrake again. Odd that she couldn't hear it. Ginny was handing Harry a pair of fluffy pink earmuffs. Fluffy. Hermione wondered vaguely whether Hagrid would bring the three-headed dog to the wedding. She would have to write and tell him there wasn't space. Besides, Remus didn't like dogs. No, it was wolves. Remus didn't like wolves.

Remus.

Hermione was closer to them now, Remus and the witch, but she still could not see the witch's face. Perhaps she would wait. She was sure Remus would turn around at some point.

But Harry said, If you want to know, why don't you ask?

* * *

A/N: Here's where this chapter's title comes from.

_Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said: "one _can't_ believe impossible things."_

_"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. __"When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. __Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."_

_––Through the Looking-Glass, by Lewis Carroll_


	16. Simply

**Chapter 16: Simply**

Hermione awoke filled with an unfeigned longing and despair.

Most of the dream was forgotten as soon as she woke, but not the last scene. She could still see Remus sitting, back to her, both the dream image and the very real sight from the previous night, after the boggart. She sat up, a dull sensation in her chest.

It would be alright. She'd go out there and say, of course she's been worried about him. The inspection was drawing nearer. There had been talk at the Ministry. Of course she cared about him.

Straightening, filling with resolve, Hermione went out into the living room. Remus was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand over his mouth, the fingers of his other hand curled loosely around his mug. His eyes moved to her.

"Good morning," she said, firmly, with what she hoped was an unaffected smile. Without giving him a chance to speak, she pressed on. "I'm sorry about the boggart. Last night. I've – I mean, I've been worried, that's all. About the inspection. It's getting nearer, you know." Her words had sounded much better in her head.

"No need to apologise." Remus looked away from her. The cabinet shuddered, but Hermione refused to glance over at it. She kept her eyes on Remus instead as she went to the cupboard.

They made a forced sort of conversation before Hermione left for work. His responses were quiet and polite; Remus felt distant from her. The embers of some unsatisfied emotion stirred in her ribs, but she did not want to compromise the feeble truce they had managed. So she smiled and pretended nothing had happened.

* * *

There was one thought on repeat in his mind: she cared for him.

Remus had felt almost paralysed after the revelation, giddy with a heady cocktail of emotions. It was guilt, shame, self-loathing, but also – _hope_, and a soaring happiness – _happiness_ – one he had never experienced before. He could not remember ever feeling this way. It frightened him; feelings he'd buried before clawed inside, as alive as they'd always been.

She truly cared for him. Perhaps she even––

_Even what?_

As quickly as it had come, the happiness was gone. He knew. He'd always known what he could never have.

_Even what? Even love you?_

He could never love her without hurting her. He could never give her the life she deserved. His condition was his to bear, and his alone.

He was grateful, then, when in the morning Hermione explained the previous evening as a result of stress over the inspection. All the better that she did not mean for things between them to change. He would always be grateful to her for doing this for him. If they could keep a distance, then he did not have to leave.

Yet, whatever he knew he had to do, he could not help but think of her. As he watched the boggart, transformed from the full moon into a ball held between the paws of a playful otter, he had the feeling she had long ago found her way into his heart.

* * *

By lunchtime at work, Hermione had convinced herself that it would help to simply get rid of the boggart. Remove the evidence; somehow turn back the clock as far as it would go.

And so when she arrived home, Hermione shut the door, put her bag down, and marched, determined, to the cabinet. She steeled herself as the doors swung open; but the cabinet was empty.

She spun around. Remus had just come into the living room. He was leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his trousers, his blue eyes sombre.

"Did you get someone to come over, then?" she asked, casually, without greeting. She felt slightly reckless even as she broached the topic. But then she had an explanation for it now, to explain what the boggart had become. And she wanted to talk about it. She needed to speak to Remus about it. Something rash propelled her on.

Remus replied, with a smile, "No, I did it myself."

Hermione felt a surge of sudden, unaccountable anger.

"Oh yeah?" she said, bitingly. "Had a laugh then, did you, while I was gone?" Had he laughed at her naïveté, at what he no doubt perceived to be a fumbling adolescent crush? She could see it now, the boggart evaporating at an effortless flick of his wand.

Remus took a step toward her. He was still smiling, though his smile had faded slightly. He said, in a placating tone, "Ah, come on, Hermione––"

It strangely, inexplicably, drove her mad. All the reasoned thoughts she'd had of keeping her feelings hidden flew from her instantly, deserted her as completely as if she'd never had them at all. Heat erupting in her chest, she snapped––perhaps unreasonably, but she did not care––

"Don't talk to me like that! I'm not a – not your _student_ anymore. It's about bloody time you realised that!"

Remus' expression changed. "I wasn't," he said, evenly. "I don't––"

"You _do_!" Hermione wet her lips and swallowed hard, moving closer to him. Her heart was thumping, still seized with a terrible recklessness. "You don't see me as an adult, do you? You still think of me as a child!"

His gaze was piercing. "I _don't_," he said. His voice was rising. "I don't, and you know – I wish I did. I wish I _could!_ I – I wish I never had to marry you!"

He wasn't shouting, but it was louder than he'd ever spoken to her before, and what he said cut straight into her heart.

"I wish I never had to marry _you_!" she shouted, even though of course she did not mean it, could never mean it in that way. Her feet were carrying her towards him, Remus, this man making her blood boil. She wanted him close enough to feel it; didn't want him able to escape, to turn away again. Evidently, he had the same idea, because he did not step back. "I wish I'd never done it," she repeated. There was something trapped her throat.

She was close enough now to see the patterns in his irises. He looked down at her, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling visibly, his nostrils flaring with the effort of not speaking. Finally, he said, in a quiet, deadly voice, "Good."

"_Good?_" She'd never lost control like this before. How odd, that it was the most controlled man she knew who'd made her this way. "_What do you mean, good?_"

"I mean," he said, "that you should never have had to marry me. Because I – because you – you're––"

"Me? _Me_, Remus? What about you?"

She wasn't sure if she was making sense, if either of them were. She was much too close to him. She did not want to shout anymore; she wanted to whisper. She wanted him to hold her like he had held her before, even if it hadn't been real, even if it had all been pretend. She wanted to trace the scars on his face, to touch what she had only been allowed to see, to stroke his cheek and his jaw and the curve of his ear.

"Why?"

One syllable, a hundred unspoken questions. But there was one she meant above all, and one that she thought he understood. _Why not?_

His lips parted. "Because––"

But he stopped.

Anger and disappointment roiled in her stomach. It made her say something else she did not mean, in a quiet, controlled voice she hadn't heard before.

"Please don't tell me you're a coward."

She had only the briefest, most fleeting second to see the anger rise across his features. Then, suddenly, his hands had cupped her face – not roughly, tender but not gentle – and his mouth––his mouth was on hers. A searing, blazing ecstasy lanced through her chest, and her skin erupted in tingles. Lightheaded, she forgot for that aching, burning moment if she was upright or somehow still dreaming.

Remus released her. Her heart was racing and she wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them again. He was breathing heavily, his pupils wide. Her eyes were drawn down to his mouth again_._

She wet her lips. Neither of them seemed able to look away from the other's gaze.

Then, without a word, Remus turned and went to the front door in several strides and wrenched it open. Numbly, Hermione reached the doorway in time to see him disappear down the corridor.


	17. Chasing Tails

**Chapter 17: Chasing Tails**

A/N: Hope you're all doing great! It's going to be a busy week coming up, so I wanted to get this out beforehand. Also, a little atypically, here are some songs I think sort of suit this chapter: _Demons _by Imagine Dragons, Coldplay's _The Scientist_, and The Fray's _All At Once_.

* * *

He could still feel her – her lips, skin, the heat of her breath. He could smell her quiet perfume and see the look on her face. The beast in him demanded that he turn around, but he knew better.

The more distance between them, the better.

The sun was setting as he landed in Yorkshire and crossed the front yard to push into the old cottage. He strode into the small bedroom and cut a hand through the air; what little belongings he kept in the drawers and shelves flew to land haphazardly onto the bed. With another movement of his arm, the trunk that stood in a corner of the room sprang open. Just as he began to sweep his things into it, he heard the front door open with a bang. Hermione. Instead of turning, Remus closed the trunk.

"Stop it!"

He turned and only barely managed to conceal his shock at finding Hermione's wand aimed directly at his throat.

"Don't you dare go anywhere," she said, her breathing shallow.

He could disarm her.

Before he had even decided whether that would be a good idea, his own wand soared through the air in a perfect arc, and Hermione caught it with her free hand.

"Learned a thing or two, living with you," she said. "Now – I'm not a fool, Remus. I know you could easily take this back. I've seen you in battle and I know you could be gone before I knew what hit me. But I've also lived with you, and I think you wouldn't do that."

Hermione lowered her wand slightly, so that it was directed more in the region of his chest. He stared at her. The beast, whose presence he no longer denied, was thrilled at her appearance, ravenous for her taste. It would be so easy. She liked him. She wanted him. It would be so easy not to leave.

"Don't go." Her voice was soft. "Please, Remus. I couldn't bear it."

She was looking at him with some passion other than anger. The blaze in her brown eyes set his insides alight, until he burned again with the craving for her lips. And this time, perhaps because he had done it once before, it was harder to resist––easier to give in. Hermione reached for him first, put her hands on his chest and looked up at him, and it was invitation enough; it was too much. He kissed her again, fiercely, wholeheartedly, blind to anything that was not her, unable to hear anything but the rush of blood in his ears and their breaths and the sounds that issued from her mouth. He buried his fingers in her hair. Her touch on his neck was driving him mad with desire.

He somehow regained himself and broke away. For the first time, he realised why people spoke of stealing hearts. Hermione Granger had stolen his, despite his wary watch.

After a long moment had passed, Hermione whispered, "I didn't mean what I said earlier, Remus. I'm sorry."

Remus managed to shake his head. "I didn't mean what I said either." He struggled with himself. "But we really can't do this," he said. He was still aroused and the beast that had caused him to kiss her again wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms. "Do you understand?" Surely she did. He was too old for her, too poor, too broken.

"We've had this conversation before," Hermione said, and her eyes were sad.

"It wasn't real then."

She met his gaze. "Is it real now?"

His mouth felt suddenly very dry. She was getting too close, and not only in the physical sense. "I should not have kissed you," he said, doggedly. "I am sorry for it. There is – there is more of the wolf in me than I pretend."

A peculiar look crossed her face_._ "Is that all it was?"

And then he understood what she was asking, and the truth was no – _no_. He felt far, far more for her than mere lust.

But if it would keep her safe from him, he would not dissuade her of the notion he had read on her face. Better that she be disgusted by him––and stay away.

So he swallowed, and instead of saying no, said,

"I'm sorry."

Her expression was one of quickly concealed hurt. In that instant he wanted more than anything to say that he loved her. But it was to save her from himself that he did not say anything.

Then Hermione said, in a shaky voice, "Fine."

"What?"

"_Fine_," she repeated. "It's fine if you only––It's alright. It'll help make the marriage seem more real, in fact. And you needn't worry about – about taking advantage of me, or anything. We're both adults. We can have sex if we like. It doesn't have to be a relationship."

The challenge in her words lay between them as tangibly as though she had thrown it out physically. No, he had not meant—

"No," he said. "That's not what I meant, Hermione."

"Of course not." Her expression was resolute now. "It's what _I_ mean."

"I couldn't do that to you."

Hermione looked frustrated. "You wouldn't be _doing anything to me_. It was my idea."

He had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach out, tuck her hair behind her ear, caress her.

Something in her eyes had softened. "Whatever you do, just promise me you won't leave, Remus. Please."

The answer came to his tongue by instinct. "I promise."

Nor would he take advantage of her, no matter what she had said. Because of his lie she had agreed not to pursue whatever feelings she might hold for him. That was enough. Things could return to the way they were. And then, once the Act was done with, as soon as he could, he would leave.

It was she, however, who leaned up and kissed him; and the tip of her tongue, tracing the seam of his lips as though to seal his promise, sent fire down his spine.

* * *

They had to see this marriage through; they had to, for Remus' sake. As long as he did not leave, she could deal with whatever it was between them.

She did not really believe that he felt nothing for her beyond the physical, but she would not press the point––now was not the time.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to kiss him. Perhaps it wasn't. She found, in that moment, she did not care. He was close to her, and he had admitted at least that he wanted her; and so the reckless part of herself would take what she could get.

When Remus parted her lips, she felt glad. When she heard the sounds she could cause him to make, she felt powerful. But above all else, when his mouth found her neck and his hands slid slowly, hotly, up her sides, she felt alive.

* * *

A/N: To my anon guest reviewer last chapter, thank you for such a kind comment. Truly happy you enjoy the writing!


	18. Fount

**Chapter 18: Fount**

"The second of October! So soon! I still can't believe you're getting married," Mrs. Weasley beamed, pulling Hermione into a tight hug. "And to Remus!"

"We wanted to keep it small," Hermione said, smiling, after she had been released. "Just a small, private ceremony."

"Yes, you've said that several times," said Molly, a faraway look on her face, as though she were presently attending the wedding in her mind.

"Only family," Hermione pressed, firmly. Family, of course, meant the Weasleys, and unquestionably included Harry. "And possibly someone from work," she added as an afterthought. It might be useful to have Phemea come.

"Relax," Fleur soothed. "It will be a small and beautiful affair."

"Thanks again for letting us use your home, Fleur." It would be nice to be married at Shell Cottage, even if it was a sham marriage. She had always loved the sea; and it was also a way to heal past wounds by present living, to add positive memories to older, painful ones. They had been to Dobby's grave several times since the war ended. She knew he would have been happy to be at the wedding.

"Nonsense," said Fleur, gracious and throaty. "We are very glad to do it, Bill and I."

"Let's discuss details, shall we?" asked Molly. "Who do you want doing the ceremony? Will you have a maid of honour, a best man? Who'll g––"

"There won't be any giving away," said Hermione, quickly, pre-emptively.

Fleur tilted her silvery head. "You 'ave discussed this with your father? Even if it is not 'giving away', who will walk with you down the aisle?"

"Remus and I don't want the traditional roles like best man or anything. Just the marriage spell, really, and then drinks after. I think I'll ask Harry or Ron to walk with me." Hermione hesitated. She might as well get it over with. "And––my parents won't be there."

Fleur looked surprised; Mrs. Weasley, outright appalled. The latter managed, in a faint voice, "Why not, dear?"

At the last minute, the lie about her parents not approving of Remus failed her. She could not bring herself to say that, even if it were not true. "They…they've…they're not very happy with me, still, for modifying their memories," Hermione said. It was reasonable, this new lie.

In truth, her parents had forgiven her, perhaps much more easily than she deserved, but they had always been like that – supportive, sensible. They had more than understood; they'd even been so upset there was nothing they could have done to help. They had always helped her through everything.

Hermione had never imagined getting married before, never had a storybook wedding fantasy, but she'd always vaguely assumed what she had thought was the obvious: that her parents would be there, in the front row, smiling or crying or both.

To her own surprise, tears stung at her eyes at this chain of thought. Mrs. Weasley gave her another tight hug.

"Never mind, dear. They'll come around."

Even without her saying it, Hermione was sure most would infer that her parents disapproved of the marriage. She was surprised how much it hurt; but then, she had seen too much of Remus not to be hurt for him.

_It's a sham marriage, anyway_, she reminded herself, but she could not help feeling a sense of loss.

* * *

Sitting at kitchen table, brow slightly furrowed with concentration, she was picturesque.

_You're thirty-eight, Remus Lupin. _

He made himself sick. When had he become one of those men, hanging on to youth through the skin of a too-young companion?

_It's not her youth I love._

What was it, then? And had he forgotten, conveniently, even for a second, that he was a werewolf?

He would leave soon.

It was this thought that he clung to. He would leave after the wedding, whether or not they passed the confounded inspection, and Hermione could live her life: meet someone good for her, fall in love and marry, have children if she wanted to. It would hurt to watch her life unfold, but he was used to hurting.

* * *

He hadn't touched her once since they had returned to the flat from Remus' old cottage. Despite this, or because of it, she thought of him endlessly. And when their fingers brushed, what she felt was surely ridiculous, unreasonable. It was hard to believe that humans were made of so much electricity.

At least they had lapsed into a sort of truce. Even if his mere proximity caused her to think of how it had been to touch him, they could at least laugh again, make small jokes. And it was important that they could - important that they pass the inspection.

Remus was on the sofa, and Hermione kept imagining she could feel his eyes on her. Eventually, clearing her throat and looking up from her work, she turned to him. "Remus––from what I've heard, our inspector is quite the piece of work, so we ought to really know our stuff."

He looked at her and nodded.

"Can we go over some questions?"

She bit her tongue, waiting. It was the first time she had really broached the subject since Yorkshire.

"Sure."

_Sure_. She could work with that. Remaining at the kitchen table, she angled her chair slightly to face him. "What's one of your happiest memories?"

In the ensuing pause, she tried to think up some of her own.

"That's a hard question," Remus observed.

She very much agreed.

He went on, "One that I often use for my Patronus is - that first Quidditch match after they found out what I was, and accepted me despite it." A faint smile played across his lips. At that, Hermione felt a sudden fierce rush of gladness in her heart that surprised herself.

"I - I think you've got some photos from that year," Hermione said. "I mean, I think I saw them when you were moving in?"

Remus nodded, and gestured; after a moment, a thin stack of photos zoomed across the room. Hermione rose eagerly from her seat and made her way over to sit beside him.

"How old are you in this?"

"Around twelve, I think." Twelve-year-old Remus was skinny, fair hair falling into his eyes, a shy smile on his young face. He was surrounded by the equally young-looking kids of his year at Hogwarts. Hermione recognized James' skinny face, stunningly like Harry; Sirius, already handsome; Peter, looking timid in a way Remus did not; and she saw Lily, and understood all the comparisons to Harry, even from the black-and-white photo. As she watched, Sirius elbowed young James in the ribs and then gave the camera a satisfied grin, only to double over almost immediately from James' retaliation.

"Give them here," Hermione said, rather greedily, taking the photos from Remus. There was something truly delightful about it, seeing the happiness on the younger Remus' face. It wasn't that now-Remus wasn't happy; it was more that she had never seen him with such a pureness of feeling, a happiness free from stress.

"You're all older here." This photo showed only the Marauders, on the grass near the lake. James was playing with a snitch - showing off, she suspected, to the photographer - and Peter was watching; Sirius occasionally strolled out of the photo, grinning at someone she couldn't see. And Remus – he was taller, lanky but not as skinny as he had been, sandy hair cut shorter. He was giving the camera a somewhat roguish smile.

"Yeah, I think that might have been fourth or fifth year."

"Who took the photo?"

"Lily." Remus laughed. "James was so thrilled."

Hermione gazed at the mischievous look in young-Remus' eyes, light grey in the photo, and understood fully why he'd been one of the Marauders.

The majority of the photos were in colour, and a few were of Remus alone. She had to laugh at the last one. Remus chuckled when she showed him.

"Sorry. Forgot that was in there."

"No, I think it's my favourite one," she teased. The Remus in the photo looked at least sixteen. His hair had grown out, reminding her of the phase Harry and Ron had gone through. He was also wearing an extremely ugly knitted sweater, and making a rude gesture to the camera, though smiling at the same time.

"Peter's mother knit us all hideous Christmas sweaters, and Sirius decided to immortalise the moment," Remus told her.

"And - that's not a cigar you're holding?"

Remus laughed. "James' dad went to Cuba that year, so naturally he pinched some for us. James, I mean, not his dad. We thought we were so cool."

In a way, she supposed, the Marauders had had more of an adolescence than she and Harry and Ron had. She was glad for that. And she went to bed that evening feeling lighter, as though something intangible between herself and Remus had settled.

* * *

**THE DAILY PROPHET**

September 13, 1998

_DARK AND DANGEROUS: MINISTRY BEGINS INSPECTIONS_

_The Ministry has begun inspections of the thousands of Dangerous Magical Creatures settled across the country. Selwyn Farage reports._

Earlier last month, the Dangerous Magical Creatures and Security Act (DMCSA) was passed in response to the devastation wreaked by dark and dangerous creatures during the war. Hundreds of creatures had flocked to join Voldemort in the months before his defeat, aiding in his attempt to subjugate witches and wizards across Britain. The DMCSA will allow the Ministry to investigate and bring to justice all creatures who pose a threat to the magical community, especially those who fought beside Voldemort.

Popularly known as the Umbridge-Rand Act, the DMCSA was introduced by prominent Ministry officials Dolores Umbridge and Nyrian Rand. According to Umbridge, the Act is "absolutely imperative" in ensuring the safety of underage witches and wizards. "The war with the Dark Lord may be over," she said, "but our children aren't safe yet." She added that she was satisfied with the progress so far. "Nyrian [Rand] is doing an excellent job with the inspections, and the specialised internment facilities are ready to go."

Rand, who heads the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, told the Daily Prophet that Ministry officials have been working day and night. "Inspections have begun as of this month, and we have already identified dozens of dangerous creatures who must be detained," said Rand. "We have also had to apprehend several witches and wizards who were foolish enough to aid and abet a dangerous creature." It should be noted that any contravention of the Act can result in a long-term stay in Azkaban. Anyone aware of a known or suspected dangerous creature should report such information promptly to the Ministry.


	19. September 19

**Chapter 19: September 19**

"Happy birthday."

She was not used to waking up to the sound of Remus' voice. After one brief, heart-stopping moment of wondering what they had done, she blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up. Remus was leaning against the doorjamb, smiling at her.

"Thanks," she smiled. Then, suspiciously, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Just a few seconds," he laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. When she made to get out of bed, he said, "Stay right there! I've got you breakfast in bed."

"You've _what_? That's so nice!" Hermione beamed and reached for her wand to discreetly give her teeth a quick cleansing charm. There was a tray floating toward her, laden with fruit and pastries, eggs and sausage and tea. "Thanks, Remus," she said again, giving him an appreciative look.

"I wanted to thank you for all you've put up with," he replied somewhat gruffly. He cleared his throat. "I could never thank you enough."

"Alright, enough of that." Hermione scooted toward one side of the bed and patted the covers. "Come join me."

"Oh," said Remus. "Er…"

"It's my birthday, you should give me what I want." She wasn't usually one to milk her birthday, but it might be necessary with Remus. "Come on. Or I'll be bringing that lovely little baby photo to my birthday dinner tonight…"

"Don't you dare." But there was amusement in Remus' eyes as he sat down on the side of the bed. "Eat up, then."

"Is that hot chocolate? Are those _churros_?" Said while dipping the latter into the former. "This is amazing. Thanks for remembering what I like despite never taking any notes." Taking a sip of tea. "How did you manage at Hogwarts? I don't imagine James or Sirius being the type you could borrow notes off."

They fell into an easy and comfortable conversation, marred only when Remus said,

"So you're nineteen."

_So young_, the words that went unspoken. _Too young_. In that instant, the feelings she'd been studiously ignoring for the past days flared up again, as strong as ever. She noticed that his lips were reddish pink and that the stubble across his jaw looked gold in the sunlight. And she thought that thin lips were just as kissable as full ones.

And she remembered how much was at stake.

She'd thought she had chemistry with Viktor. She'd thought love would never again be as head-over-heels mad and magical as in her younger teenage years. How wrong she'd been.

Hermione forced back the kiss she would have gladly deposited on that so-close mouth and turned it into a smile. "Yes." It made him exactly twice her age. She cast around for something to say, to divert his attention. "But um – yes, I – I'll be visiting my parents tomorrow. Where are you taking me today?"

Remus looked surprised. "Me? Won't you be spending the day with those three?" _Those three_ meant Harry and Ron and Ginny.

"No, I'd rather have some bonding time with my fiancé." She bit into a croissant. "Can we go to a matinee? Have you seen any of the cheesy muggle hits?"

Which was how they ended up in the middle of a packed room applauding a fervent rendition of _All That I Ask Of You_. Remus had never been to see Phantom of the Opera, he said afterward. He hadn't known what he'd been missing his entire life, but he'd finally found it.

"Oh, lay off." She couldn't help but laugh at his deadpan expression. "I saw you smiling. You liked it, didn't you? Even a little?"

"It was nice," he agreed. "_You_ loved it, I saw you."

"I remember first watching it with my Nan when I was younger. Not sure I fully grasped all the double entendres, but I never forgot the magic of watching something live."

They had made their way to Covent Garden, and Hermione was contemplating a nice meal out in the sun when suddenly she noticed a very familiar face coming their way. She froze. Remus, thinking she was distracted by the crowd, rested his hand on the small of her back.

"We should go," she hissed, and looked wildly around before having the good sense to try and hide her face, but it was too late – Farzin had seen her.

"What's the matter?" Remus drew her closer to him, subconsciously, it seemed, and looked alert. She saw him see Farzin.

"My ex-boyfriend," she said, giving up.

"_Hermione_," said Farzin, smiling widely. "What a pleasure to be running into you."

His French accent was as gorgeous as she'd found it the first time they'd met, his brown eyes as clear as she remembered. Well, he'd taught her that clear eyes were not necessarily better windows to the soul.

"Hello."

"Remus Lupin," said Remus, when it seemed apparent Hermione was not going to introduce him. He and Farzin shook hands, and Hermione felt an odd frisson of irritation and love and pride go through her. She didn't want Farzin touching him.

"My fiancé," she could not help but add, coolly.

Farzin looked fascinated. "Oh?" He eyed Remus up and down, then grinned. "Is this why you would not come to me? You are more interested in, ah, money, or power…"

For god's sake, Remus was hardly wearing a power suit.

"It's nice seeing you," she said, coolly, refusing to let him get to her. A philanderer who expected her to come to him after he had cheated on her – he wasn't worth the annoyance. "We've got to go now. See you around."

Remus seemed to have remembered who Farzin was. He was looking grimly at the younger man.

"No, wait, what's the rush," said Farzin, that deceptively charming smile on his face again, and Hermione, about to respond, was surprised to find a mouth on hers. Remus Lupin's mouth, to be precise. He was giving her a very nice kiss. The contact, after days of avoiding it, was almost overwhelming.

"The rush," Remus said, "is that it's her birthday, and I've got plans for her." Then he put an arm round Hermione's waist, pressed another kiss to her temple, and walked them onward, leaving the other man in their wake.

After a while, Hermione uttered, "Smooth."

"He's an even bigger arse than you made him out to be."

"'Course he is. He's probably wondering what sorts of plans you've got for me."

Remus gave her a quick look. "Oh Merlin, did it come out like that? I didn't mean that." She was finding it difficult to suppress a smirk. "I really didn't."

"Oh, relax. I'm not going to swoon at the mere mention of sex."

"Wait, who mentioned sex?"

"Wh – _you_ – Remus."

He was laughing. She was glad.


	20. Resist

**Chapter 20: Resist**

"Someone asked me about you the other day."

Hermione looked up. Phemea was looking at her nervously from her desk.

"Who did?" Hermione set down her quill.

"Janet. She works with Magical Creatures; I don't think you know her."

"What'd she ask?" Hermione did not try to sound offhanded. She was growing more and more nervous as the date of the wedding and the inspection drew closer.

Phemea said, "She––well, she asked me if you do anything other than '_spew_'." The witch looked bemused, then continued. "And whether you've been talking with any others about 'reform', or anything."

So the Ministry was keeping tabs on her, and by the sounds of it, the "others", those associated with the Order and no doubt Dumbledore's Army. This was not exactly news, but it was never pleasant to be reminded of the surveillance. And it did trouble her; it was not unlikely that the Ministry was stepping up its watch now that she and Remus were engaged.

* * *

It was a crow, and not an owl, that rapped smartly on the windowpane. There was a weathered scroll tied to its leg. Remus knew only one person who preferred to send letters via crow.

Sure enough, the letter was from Wade. The older werewolf and the pack he moved with were probably still living all over Britain.

_Been running into foreign packs. Said they came here to escape a war back home. I told them there's a war here, too. _

More werewolves, then; more dangerous magical creatures for the Ministry to 'take care of'. The possibility of violence was growing more likely. Remus could not imagine that Wade and the others would go quietly to the 'specialised internment facilities'.

"Hello," came Hermione's voice, and Remus started. She was just closing the front door behind her. "I've brought you your Wolfsbane," she said. "It is a week tonight, isn't it?"

"Oh," he said. "Thank you. I – I was going to get it myself." It was strange, to see someone else with the potion, someone other than the brewer who handed it to him. To have someone – taking care of him, he supposed. He did not quite know what to feel about it. There was certainly a warmth in his belly, though he did not know its nature.

"Oh, it's alright. I had to go to Hogwarts anyway, so I just brought it home for you. The first four, anyway."

She handed him a vial and he took it, still feeling odd about it. He kept forgetting that she had just turned nineteen. It was such a young number. He didn't think he'd been anything like Hermione when he was that age.

"Thank you," he said, again, when she took the empty vial from him. The taste was, as usual, acrid and bitter in his mouth; yet it faded to a distant tang when she gave him a small side-hug. He loved these little details, the shows of affection, and he loathed them, too, loathed them because of how they made him feel. It made him forget that there was no possibility of having that which he so feverishly desired these days. It made him unable to forget that he'd dreamed of her, and that in the dream they had been together – together.

"No need, please. It didn't take nearly as many days as––"

Hermione stopped short.

He stared at her. A mild sort of panic was evident in her eyes.

"What? What didn't take as many days as you'd thought?" Surely she hadn't–– She couldn't have.

She exhaled with the air of someone who was resigned to coming clean.

"The potion. I'm sorry. I was planning to tell you later, as a surprise, or…" she trailed off, watching him.

A strange feeling in his ribs, Remus uttered, "You made the potion?"

"Slughorn did most of the work," Hermione said, quickly, in a reassuring tone. "I know it's one of the most difficult potions to master, how dangerous it is to get it wrong. He was watching over every single thing I did."

"It's not that." Remus struggled to find the words. He needed to look away from those brown eyes. He couldn't. Nor could he find the right words. What it ended up as was: "I don't want you to make it. I mean – I don't want you to have to make it." It was not for her; he was not her concern. He did not want her to make him her concern. Not when he had to leave.

He could see that she had heard him and understood what he could not express in words.

"I wanted to do it for you," she said, quietly. "And this – this potion is the least you deserve, Remus. The least."

What he saw in Hermione's eyes, a deep and true caring, cut deep into the heart of him; and there was a still moment, the eye of some metaphysical storm, during which he thought, _I will never be rid of this feeling; I will never be rid of her_.

And it made him feel astoundingly, frighteningly, glad.

* * *

As the days passed, as this second full moon of their engagement drew nearer, Remus once again grew restive and tense, prone to starting whenever she entered the room. He had also taken to carrying a book around with him at all times around the flat. She would not have thought twice about it, except that the book seemed prone to ending up laid across his lap whenever she took a seat near him.

That, and the fact that he had begun to take his showers cold again, and the several unmistakeable, searching looks she'd caught when he thought she wasn't watching, was making it very difficult for her to resist her fiancé. It was torture to resist like this; to be so close and yet unable to touch him. It was not even like waiting to have sex after marriage, because there would be no sex even after this wedding, no wedding night sex, no honeymoon sex.

Yet all of this would not trouble her in the least if she only did not _want_ him so desperately. She didn't think she had ever lusted after a real live man this much in her entire life. She hadn't thought sex was that important to her at all. Evidently, her brain considered 'sex with Remus' to fall in another category.

But Hermione managed to keep her hands to the appropriate locations, shoulder, arm, waist, cheek, chest (_alright_ – perhaps she was slipping a little), and they made it to the day of the full moon. There was no question this time that she would accompany him to the cottage. He put his arm around her for the Apparition and she wished his hand would slip just a little lower. Just a _little_ indication that he wouldn't mind doing something more, she thought. But Remus Lupin's self-control was a force to be reckoned with; an infuriating force.

Like the previous moon, she locked him into the small bedroom. When she could go in, she felt they had truly grown closer since the first moon. It felt different this time. Remus, those wolf's eyes still clear with human intellect, stretched out on the bed, and did not object when she stroked his fur. She thought of the animagus process she'd yet to begin. She wondered if she would ever have a chance to make it useful; if she could find a way to make Remus see that they could really––have something.

The next morning, she helped Remus back to the flat and straight to the bed again, where he fell into the same immediate deep sleep as he had the previous time. She gently brushed the dark blonde hair from his eyes, and when he did not stir, she kissed the corner of his lips.


	21. Wed

**Chapter 21: Wed**

_A/N: Hello! How long it's been! I'd planned to stop for a month, but that quickly became three. If I leave a story too long, I just know I'll cringe too hard at my writing to continue. Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed and followed along with this little story of mine. _

* * *

"If you've changed your mind for any reason, dear, don't hesitate to tell us. _Any_ reason. We can always turn back."

Hermione looked at Molly with some surprise. Mrs Weasley had been nothing but supportive these past weeks.

"If this wedding was influenced even _at all_ by the Ministry…then nobody, and I'm sure least of all Remus, will judge you for not wanting to proceed." Molly brushed a speck of something invisible from Hermione's dress.

Hermione nearly responded––nearly said, _they'll take him away instantly and lock him up, don't you understand?_––but managed to swallow the words. She said, instead, "I'm very sure about this." A smile. "I care for Remus immensely."

Now it was Fleur who surprised her. "But care is not love, Hermione."

"And I love him," Hermione added. She smiled to soften the words. "I can see why the timing may seem suspect. Thank you all for all the support you've given me and Remus despite…despite our unorthodox relationship. And thank you for your concern now, but I assure you, I'm very sure of this."

She sounded very certain to herself, even if she felt no such certainty in her stomach. She exchanged a glance with Ginny, who raised her eyebrows.

Then the moment was over, and the other women busied themselves again with her dress and makeup. Hermione smiled as they returned to chatting and laughing. Though _certain_ she most definitely was not, she did not feel as unsettled as she'd thought she would. There was no feeling of impending doom; no eleventh-hour fear reared its head. She had every intention of seeing this through.

Soon enough, it was time for the ceremony, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to get it over with. Shell Cottage was even prettier than usual, thanks to Fleur's wandwork, and it was a perfect balmy day. Arthur Weasley had been absolutely delighted to discover the main theme of the day: Muggle Wedding. The only fly in the goblet was the Ministry representative there to officiate the ceremony. Standard procedure, they'd been told, especially when a dangerous magical creature sought to get married.

"On your own time, dear." Molly gave Hermione an encouraging smile, dabbing at her own cheeks with a tissue.

"Thanks," she said, smiling despite her nerves. Ginny caught her eye and grinned.

"You sure you're not going to change your mind?"

Hermione frowned.

"Fine, fine. You sure you don't want me to walk with you? Or Mum, or even Fleur?"

Fleur sniffed. "What is the meaning of _even_––"

"I'm sure," Hermione laughed. It was odd, but she felt full of some strange mix of emotions that she wasn't quite sure was appropriate for a sham marriage. "I'm very sure."

She kissed them each on the cheek, and with that, the three other women exited the cottage to join the party awaiting the bride. Ginny and Fleur, she knew, would be joining Harry and Ron and Remus in the front.

When Hermione eased open the front door, the sunlight hit her first, then the smell of salt on the sea breeze. She smiled, nervous despite herself, as her eyes fell on the small gathering of friends and family ahead, the petals on the sand.

She met Remus' light gaze across the distance and her nerves quieted to an insignificant buzz. In his waistcoat and cutaway, he was every part the Remus she had grown to know over the last months, not the professor of her past. As she took her first steps towards him, the three-witch band began to play. She could feel everyone smiling at her as she passed. When she was halfway down the makeshift aisle, she paused, as they had earlier arranged. Remus came to meet her in the centre; she took his arm, and they walked together to the front.

"Hermione," Remus murmured.

"I'm sure," she said, pre-emptively. But he laughed softly.

"No––you look beautiful."

The smile she gave him as they stood before the Ministry wizard was instinctive, unabashed, her heart swelling with feeling. _It's not real,_ she reminded herself, _this wedding._ Yet the look in Remus' eyes was anything but false. She couldn't look away.

"We are gathered here today to join Remus John Lupin and Hermione Jean Granger in matrimony; an honourable estate, not to be entered into lightly or in falsehood, but reverently and soberly."

The Ministry wizard continued with the muggle vows. The words were familiar words, but they took on a new meaning she had never truly understood until today. _In sickness and in health_, the wizard said, and she thought, _yes, always_.

"You may say your vows," said the wizard.

Remus swallowed. Hermione said, softly,

"I, Hermione Granger, do take you, Remus Lupin, to be my lawfully wedded husband, secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend and my faithful partner in life."

She squeezed his hands when it came to his turn to speak. _Do not back out now._

He did not. He stayed, and said his part, and then Harry was handing Remus the ring.

"I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness," Remus said. His eyes were a brilliant blue, his gaze almost vulnerable. Her breath caught in her throat as he continued. "As––as I place it on your finger, I commit my heart and soul to you. I ask you to wear this ring as a reminder of the vows we have spoken today."

He slid the wedding ring onto her finger. She recalled him doing the same, months ago, when she had first planned their false wedding. What had she said, then? Thanked him for making their sham engagement so beautiful. She didn't feel capable of such flippancy now.

She had to swallow before she said her part, taking Remus' ring from Ginny and sliding it onto his finger.

"You may kiss," said the Ministry wizard. Then, slowly, surely, she felt Remus' arms about her waist. He leaned in and she up, and they kissed. She kissed him fiercely, the whoops and applause mere backdrop to the pounding of her heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind Hermione remembered vaguely that there was an inspection to pass and a law to overturn. But in this moment, she thought, _I love him––I do_; and it terrified her.

Mere hours after the reception, as the sun was setting, they bid farewell to the small wedding party and Apparated to their temporary new residence, a cabin on an island surrounded by the Aegean sea. Hermione found Remus on the balcony, looking out to sea. The afternoon sky was pink and orange and the angle of the sun threw romantic, arcing shadows of the rocky cliffs across the weathered face of the ocean.

"Remus," she said, softly, as she approached him from behind. She could not be sure how he was feeling. She was not even sure about herself; there was something swooping in her stomach that could perhaps be put to the gathering twilight and the darkening sea.

Remus turned to her, and she felt her heart skip a beat when their eyes met. She felt, quite certainly, and in an entirely different way than legilimency, that he was looking somewhere far deeper than her conscious mind. And she his, judging by what she felt as they held the gaze: guilt and trepidation, and hunger, and love.

It seemed a wedding and a honeymoon had unfastened him. Finally, at long last, the hunger won, the love. He reached for her and she went to him, their kisses urgent, consumed with need. She could not think of a single word to say. She knew she would not need any.


	22. Ready, Set

**Chapter 22: Ready, Set**

A week later, still feeling the warmth of the Greek sun under her skin, Hermione was back in London and on her way to work again. The sky was grey and the people on the streets were harried, jostling by in the morning rush, but she was happy. She found herself smiling the entire way into the Ministry, on the elevator, along the corridors, and all the way into her office.

"Welcome back!" said Phemea, beaming and leaping up from her seat to hug her. "How was the honeymoon?"

"Wonderful," Hermione replied, honestly. "Perfect. We spent so much time together and were hardly ever at each other's throats."

"Except in good ways, I hope," grinned Phemea. Hermione did not reply, but only smirked back at her.

Even the letter reminding her that the Ministry Inspection was upcoming in two days failed to dampen her spirits. She was quite confident they would pass the test.

* * *

**THE DAILY PROPHET**

October 10, 1998

_MINISTRY: DETENTION OF DANGEROUS CREATURES ON THE RISE_

_The Ministry's planned detention of Dangerous Magical Creatures under the Umbridge-Rand Act is progressing smoothly, says Nyrian Rand. Selwyn Farage reports._

_In the two months since the Dangerous Magical Creatures and Security Act (DMCSA) was passed, the Ministry has made good progress, according to Nyrian Rand, proponent of the decree and Head of the Beast Division within the Ministry. "We are now deep in the process of rounding up werewolves, vampires, giants, and all other manner of unsavoury, dangerous creatures," Rand told the Daily Prophet. "Inspections have been successful at revealing all such creatures." As of the writing of this article, at least seventy dangerous creatures are now contained at the Ministry's specialised internment facilities._

Remus tossed the _Prophet_ to the end of the sofa and reached for the copy of the _Quibbler_ currently resting on the coffee table. There was nothing related to the Act on the cover, but he thumbed through the pages and found a small article on the second-to-last page:

_**Peaceful Protest Disrupted by Ministry Workers**_

_Reporting by L.L._

_A group of wizards and witches gathered near Ministry headquarters yesterday afternoon to protest the brutal and unfair treatment of so-called "dangerous magical creatures". The protestors, although loud and angry, remained peaceful. Nevertheless, several bystanders reported that the Ministry, led by Dolores Umbridge, took action against the protest later in the evening. Several members of the group, who identified as werewolves, were injured in the confrontation and arrested by Ministry officials. The Quibbler sought to interview other bystanders for more information, but most witnesses appeared to have no memory of the incident at all, or only very vague recollections of where they were at that time of day._

About to turn to the next page, Remus paused and looked more closely at the small square photo on the page. His mouth felt dry as he realised that he recognised a few of the protestors moving in the photo: they too had spent time with Mathieu Wade and his nomadic pack of werewolves. If any of them had been arrested, he had no doubt that Wade would attempt a rescue.

* * *

Hermione could sense that something was wrong. When she asked what was troubling him, Remus looked at her quietly before saying,

"People I knew from when I spent time with werewolf packs may be in danger."

When she'd read the article in the _Quibbler_, she put her arms about his shoulders and kissed his cheek. He was relaxed and easy in her embrace. "It's all the more important we pass the inspection," she whispered, finding his eyes. Remus nodded.

"Ask me anything," Hermione told him.

"I remember it all," he said, simply.

The next evening, the night before inspection day, Ginny and Harry came around for dinner with Hermione and Remus. After the meal, Ginny cornered Hermione in the bedroom.

"Are you two ready?"

"Absolutely."

"I think so too," Ginny said, slowly. "In fact…you seem much too ready."

"What?" Hermione laughed, but it didn't appear as if Ginny were joking. She stopped. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean," said Ginny, frowning slightly, "is this still all––do you really feel––could it be that you really feel for him?"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat at the question. "What d'you mean?"

"You know what I mean," said Ginny, her voice a little harder now. "Do you really like him now? It certainly seems that way. Especially after you two got back from Greece."

Hermione felt her cheeks growing warmer, and, unable to deny it any longer, finally settled for saying: "What does it matter?"

At her words, Ginny looked stricken. "It's just––this was meant to be all a _plan_, I…just a plan until we could stop Umbridge. I never meant to––make you––"

"You didn't 'make me' anything," Hermione said, irritated all at once. "You can get that look off your face. I'm an adult, Ginny, older than you are. I think I'm capable of making my own decisions."

"Yes, _we_ may be _adults_, but we're still really young," Ginny returned, hotly. "Lupin––_Professor_ Lupin, remember that?––is _Lupin_. He's just got so many more years. I just meant maybe consider that there's a lot of him you don't even really know about yet. Not just rush––"

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione interrupted, going to the bedroom door and opening it. "I appreciate your concern."

She looked at Ginny with a resolutely cool gaze, despite the doubt that had reared in her chest, reminding her that it had been nesting there for the past few weeks, alive and well and now reawoken by Ginny's words. Ginny was scowling, so Hermione walked out into the living room, where Harry and Remus had been talking at the dining table. They both looked up at her footsteps; she looked between them, two men she both loved in entirely different ways.

"Take care," said Ginny at the door when she and Harry took their leave.

Hermione knew she meant well.

"Goodnight," she said, before closing the door gently behind them.

Then she looked at Remus and saw him as he was, quietly confident, an understated strength, considerate, courteous to a fault. But perhaps Ginny had been right. Hermione could pretend to know everything about Remus already; and she did know all those things he had shared with her for the inspection. But she too had been swept up in the emotion of the honeymoon. What she felt for him she could no longer question, but did she truly know him, through and through?

Still, she thought, firmly, they certainly knew enough of each other for the nearing inspection, and that was what mattered. They had come a long way since the summer.

* * *

It was after six and the Ministry corridors were quiet, with only the occasional witch or wizard passing through on their way home. In the Beast Division, however, a Ministry witch was paying a colleague a visit.

"I'd be extra careful, tomorrow, Hubert," said Hera. "I've always had the feeling that Granger's…up to something."


	23. Inspection

Chapter 23: Inspection

* * *

Hubert Hickering was a stout man, slightly shorter than Remus, with precisely combed brown hair. He was dressed in Ministry black with an Inspector badge pinned to his chest. He asked them much of the questions they had prepared for, and, oddly, he had warned Hermione before entering her mind. He had come up with nothing, and each of their answers had been faultless.

But Hickering made no show of being impressed with their effortless answers to his questions thus far.

"So it appears you have diligently studied each other's preferences during this very short engagement."

"We've been studying each other for longer than just the period of our engagement," Hermione answered, coolly.

"Not _very_ much longer, I should hope?" Hickering narrowed his eyes. "You see, Ms. Granger, that would be troubling indeed."

Remus shifted and Hermione grabbed his hand.

"No, of course not," Hermione said. "Long after I had come of age."

"It cannot have been that long after," Hickering sneered, "given your precise age at this moment in time, Ms. Granger."

For a tense moment nothing was said. Then Hickering scanned his parchment and turned, brusquely, to his next question. "And do you have intercourse? Is it frequent?" He spoke, deliberately, Hermione was sure, as though he were a buyer enquiring after the habits of a pair of animals. His protuberant blue eyes roved contemptuously over Remus and then Hermione. Hermione hated the humiliation, hated the power that he wielded, hated that they had to stand there and take it.

"Yes," Hermione answered, with a warning glance at Remus. She could sense the steel beneath his eyes and felt the bitter tension in his hand.

"How frequently?" Hickering demanded, haughty features taking on an expression of great distaste. "Once a month? Once a week? Several times?"

"Several times," Hermione said, cutting him off and trying to stop her voice from shaking with anger. She squeezed Remus' hand. "Next question, please."

Hickering sneered again at the insincerity of her final word. "It would do to remember that I hold the fate of your chosen _mate_ in my hands, my dear." His unpleasant emphasis on the word made clear what he thought of her choice, true relationship or not. "Do you understand? It is not my fault nor anyone else's that you have chosen to invite a half-breed into your bed." He turned aside and spoke casually to his self-writing quill. "Mating, frequent, 'several times a week.'"

The anger that seethed in her could melt stones. And Remus, too, she could sense it, she had to warn him; remind him not to react. That was what the Ministry wanted. Any excuse to send him away. But Hermione had time only to grip Remus' forearm before—suddenly—he was doing it, Pickering was doing it...he was reading her mind again...she was much too angry and caught entirely unprepared...

Remus was kissing her in their house on the cliffs. His hands were warm on her skin; her heart was beating faster...

_Stop, this is private, get out of my mind––_

...They were at the cottage the morning after his transformation, and she was helping him with his shirt...

_Stop._

She could taste blurred fragments of thoughts and afternoon memories of Hogwarts...she was in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Lupin was smiling at her with approval, she hoped he liked her, she had answered most of his questions after all...

"You're the brightest witch of your age I've ever known," he was saying...

_Get out–_

They had moved from memory to mere thought...here was Professor Lupin again, the golden sunlight of a dream classroom flooding the room she had dreamt up all those years ago. "I love you, " Professor Lupin was saying, and then they were sharing the sweetest kiss...

_Get out of my head!_

He did. But it was too late. She was standing in the present once again but Hickering was looking at her with a triumphant beam.

"Oh, my," he said, softly. "Such perversion. I wonder that it does not shock me." He gave them a soft, pleased smile. "You will come with me, Creature. Ms. Granger will be unable to deny, with the help of some veritaserum, what I have seen in her memories today."

"They weren't memories!" Hermione began, jumping to her feet.

"I saw them in your mind, did I not?" Hickering's nostrils were flaring in triumph as he spoke. "Besides, it will be _you_ and not me on trial. Now stand aside. I am detaining the Creature."

The nightmare horror was consuming her gut. She turned to find that Remus had risen to his feet. There was a defeated expression on his face; it made her stomach plummet further.

"You are charged with perversion, Creature," Hickering said, his voice filled with delight. "There is evidence of your loathsome conduct toward a student during your time there as professor. Surrender yourself, or the Ministry will search you out and take any measures necessary to incapacitate you."

This had been the point of the inspection. She realised then with a hollow feeling that there would have been no way for them to pass through this inspection unscathed. Hickering––the Ministry––had long decided what it wanted to do.

The look in Remus' eyes took Hermione's breath away. There was no fear there; those clear blue eyes were filled with self-loathing. She could see the haunted look in his eyes, as though he agreed; as though Hickering's words were the words he had been dreading forever.

Hickering bound Remus when he saw he would not resist. "You see," he sneered to Hermione. "He knows. In a way it is not your fault, girl, to have been taken in by this half-breed so depraved as to prey upon his own students."

"_Remus!_" Hermione said. Two more Ministry wizards had Apparated behind Hickering. They took Remus in hand. She held him by the arms and tried to seek out his eyes. "Remus, I'm sorry, he––it wasn't memory, it was just––they can't do this. I won't––"

"It's alright," Remus said, quietly. "I'll go with them, Hermione. You stay safe here. I'll be fine."

Without further warning, the Ministry wizards Disapparated. Hermione was left staring at the empty space where Remus had just been, her hands still warm from his skin.

"You are better off," Hickering said, lazily. "Far better off without a half-breed making use of you to escape his own fate."

What good had come of her plans? Of course Hickering would have chosen her rather than Remus for his legilimency. She was young, inexperienced. Remus had had years of practice.

She felt suddenly clueless, painfully green. She could see now, with the clarity of time and distance, what Hickering had done with the legilimency. He had warned her the first time to put her off guard; he had asked the provocative question just before re-entering her mind without warning. And it had worked to get what he wanted: anything to sustain an arbitrary excuse to lock up another Creature, particularly one allied with forces resistant to the establishment.

"Good day, Ms. Granger."

She thought about cursing him, but that would solve no problem. Instead she stood numbly as he left.

* * *

"Remus Lupin?"

He stirred at the sound of his name. His mouth tasted of parchment. He vaguely remembered the stunning spells cast by the Ministry wizards; and now he was here…where was he?

"It's him, alright."

He struggled to open his eyes.

"Merlin, it's him." Someone was patting his cheek. "Wake up, Lupin. You're with us, now."

"Locked up with us," someone else was saying, bitterly. "What'd they get you for, eh? If they could get you, they'll get anyone…"

"Wade'll come free us, you'll see."

"Fat lot of good that'll do us. Get us all killed, more like."

"Wake up, Lupin."

* * *

Hermione could not quite remember how she had gotten here, standing in the thick velvet carpet that covered Umbridge's office floor. Harry was beside her, and Arthur.

"You see, the Act determines which creatures can be trusted." Umbridge simpered. She and Rand had been explaining things to them. "It states––"

Arthur said, "Now see here––"

"The_ Act?_" Hermione burst out, startling everyone in the room into silence. "That _sham_ you call an Act? You enacted it knowing _full well_ your anti-werewolf legislation means no werewolf out there will have 'been in the employ of a Wizard or Witch for at least three years'. So you can shut up about the _Act_, you bigoted bi––"

Harry grabbed Hermione to restrain her. Rand had his wand out and pointed directly at her.

"_Well_," Umbridge said, her voice not at all breathy or girlish. "_Well_, Ms. Granger. I rather think being married to a Werewolf has addled your brain._"_

Hermione was seized with another burst of fury, a suicidal urge to take out her wand and––

_Hermione_, Harry was saying, _Hermione, please, I understand, but please try to be calm. We can't help Remus if we're in prison as well._

She felt a little stunned herself at the visceral fury that had burst from her. But she felt it again as she looked from Umbridge's face to Rand's, each filled with such infuriating self-satisfaction.

Rand examined her coldly. "We will consider the case of Remus John Lupin along with the cases of the other Creatures," he said. "The Ministry will be in touch in due course."

* * *

_A/N: Sincere apologies. Due to the circumstances of life at the moment, I always have little idea when I will have time to work on this story. Still, I dearly wish to finish it. Hope you are all well._


	24. Ministry of Magic v Remus John Lupin

**Chapter 24: _Ministry of Magic v. Remus John Lupin_**

"Totally out of order," Ron was muttering. He and Harry were accompanying Hermione to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to find out when Remus' court date. Usually the accused would be sent home after arrest and owled with the information, but it was Ministry policy to deny bail to any "Dangerous Magical Creature" arrested under the Umbridge-Rand Act. As such, Remus was still in detention, and Hermione had received no word from the Ministry as to when his trial would take place.

When they arrived at the Magical Laws Department, Hermione went straight to deserted front desk and, ignoring the parchment form for inquiries into Wizengamot matters, shouted, "_Geminus!_"

"Slow down, Hermione," Ron said in alarm. "Why don't we fill out the form here––"

"I will not jump through any more of their hoops," Hermione said, rounding on him. "Look where trying to comply with their insipid rules got us––got _Remus_––"

As always, a stab of guilt accompanied the thought of Remus, whom she had let down with her foolish plan. She was naïve and a fool for believing the Ministry would fairly enforce its prejudiced laws. When had Umbridge ever played by rules that she had not created herself?

"_Geminus! _I know you're in there!" Hermione began to march down the internal corridor in the direction of Geminus Pickette's office, Harry and Ron in her wake. Geminus appeared at the door of his office, eyes narrowed, wand by his side. That was fine. Hermione's wand was out, too.

"What do you want?" Geminus spoke coldly, his eyes flickering between Hermione, Harry, and Ron.

"Information about the trial for Remus Lupin."

Hermione waited in the silence. Geminus seemed to be gauging the advantages of making this difficult for them. Eventually, with a sneer, he shrugged. "Fine."

He retreated into his office, summoned a roll of blank parchment from a stack in one corner, and positioned a dark green Ministry quill upon it. The quill remained there, balanced on its point, when he released it and spoke. "Dates for Remus Lupin, werewolf."

Unaided, the quill began to write, filling the parchment with black ink. After a minute of silence it finished and Hermione lifted the parchment to read.

_The Wizengamot_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic_

_SUMMONS_

_Ministry of Magic v. Remus John Lupin_

_The Accused named above shall be charged pursuant to section 17(1)(b) of the Dangerous Magical Creatures and Security Act of 1998. The Accused must appear before the Wizengamot at 9:00am on the 31st of October, 1998. Failure to appear shall constitute a further chargeable offence._

Hermione finished reading and, handing it to Ron, left Geminus' office without a word. Harry and Ron followed her back to her office, reading as they went.

"The thirty-first…that's weeks away," said Harry, quietly. Hermione had sat down at her desk. Phemea wasn't in, likely out for lunch. Ron sat down heavily in her chair. "We'll have time to––to talk to Kingsley, or someone else who can help…"

"Weeks away," Hermione repeated. For weeks Remus would be held captive, subject to whatever torture the Ministry was inflicting upon those captured under the Act. It had been her worst fear for the past few weeks and now it was happening; and she could do nothing about it––

She stood, abruptly, one hand on her bag. Ron frowned.

"Where're you going?"

"Home," she said. "I will not work for this Ministry one day longer."

But Harry reached for her bag, too. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Of course I am."

"But think about the consequences––"

"The worst has already happened."

"No," said Harry. "No, it hasn't." He had one hand firmly on her bag now and Hermione felt a brief, mad urge to hex him. "The worst has not happened," he said, grimly. "Yes, they've taken Remus, and yes, the law right now is about as fair as Umbridge's old Educational Decrees. But that's exactly why Remus needs you to stay put right now. We're all working on this, Hermione. Just one person against the Ministry isn't going to be as powerful as all of us."

"He's right, Hermione," Ron said in a low voice. To her horror, she felt tears springing up in her eyes. Fighting them, she managed,

"Just today, then. I need to think."

She sent a memo to her supervising witch and then went straight home. It was hard to believe Remus had been taken just two nights ago. It felt as if it had been years. She avoided the drawers with his clothes; she could not bear to smell his scent. She had to think. What was the matter with her? Since when had Harry been the calm one, the voice of reason? What other idiocy would she commit to hurt Remus? What were they doing to him right now, in detention? They had not even allowed her to visit him.

She cried, then, filled with regret and fear and awful, heavy sorrow. There was little Umbridge would not do. She cried also because Harry had been right, and it frightened her that she hadn't known it already herself.

Afterward, however, she collected herself. There was work to be done.

* * *

The thirty-first of October dawned grey and chilly, the morning heralded by heavy showers. The courtroom in the basement of the Ministry was still empty when Hermione and the Weasleys arrived. Others from the Order trickled in as the hearing time drew nearer. Half an hour prior to the hearing, an expressionless Ministry wizard informed Hermione that she could visit briefly with the accused under supervision.

It became clear, when the wizard led Hermione out of courtroom, down dim corridors, and out of a backdoor of the Ministry building, that Remus had been transported to the Ministry in an enchanted cage, like an animal. The cage was just tall enough for him to stand, and just low enough that he was forced to stoop. He had been left out in the rain, the top of the cage uncovered. When she ran to him, Remus looked up, and all she could think was that his eyes were unchanged. She saw the same eyes; she saw the same _strength_ in him, and it flooded her with relief.

"Remus," she breathed, pressing herself close to the cage. The steel bars were cold and wet in her grip.

"Hermione." She thought she heard a similar relief in his voice. She couldn't look away from his gaze. Vaguely she knew that rainwater was dripping from his nose and eyelashes, that his hair and beard were dark from the rain, that he was wearing Ministry-issued prison robes.

Hermione tested the cage and found she could reach inside. Remus let her brush his wet hair from his eyes. She dearly wanted to hold him close, but this would do for now. Her muttered _impervius_ worked, too; she would do what little she could at the moment. She knew that prisoners under the Umbridge-Rand Act had their wands confiscated and were forbidden from doing any magic.

"We're doing everything we can," she told him. "All of us, Remus."

"Thank you," he said.

She was consumed still by guilt. Remus seemed to see it. He took her hand from his cheek and pressed a kiss to her palm. He opened his mouth to speak.

The Ministry wizard spoke first, his tone firm and indifferent. "Time to go."

"Take care of yourself," Remus said, letting go of Hermione's hand. "And please, please don't blame yourself. I couldn't bear it if you did."

She could only nod.


	25. The Revolution Will Not Be Broadcast

**Chapter 25: The Revolution Will Not Be Broadcast**

The first appearance at the Wizengamot on October 31st was a perfunctory charging of Remus and three other detainees, two wizards and one witch, all werewolves. Hermione had stayed for their trials, which were after Remus', hoping she would have another chance to speak to him. But they had all been taken away at once after being charged with breach of the Act. She'd clung to his eyes, the only thing she had, the weight of his blue gaze.

She left the courtroom feeling numb inside and out, as though she'd been submerged in the Great Lake and had never quite warmed back up.

"Take heart, Hermione," Arthur was saying, gently. "You've got the whole Order behind you."

"Thanks, Arthur."

* * *

She'd looked so stricken. How Remus despised himself now, for dragging her into his own mess. He'd had so many opportunities to leave her, but he'd stayed, so easily anchored by the lightest touch of her hand.

He would have dwelt longer on the pain––and on how much he missed her––but the others were talking to him again.

"You said you'd heard from Wade, Remus?" It was Reinhold who asked him, the hope in his voice a stab in Remus' chest.

The other captive werewolves, three men and a woman, had all at some point been part of Mathieu Wade's motley band of nomads. Weeks earlier, Remus had seen them in the Daily Prophet, in a photo accompanying the article on Umbridge-Rand Act detainees. Well, he was with them now, his small cell beside theirs. He was close enough to hear the painful hope in their voices and the questions they asked. They had hope in Wade. They still thought he might rescue them.

"I did," he said, heavily, into the darkness. "But not since you all split up, Reinhold."

Carole spoke, the only woman of their group. "We thought we might slip the borders. We thought there were always ways out."

"Yeah, how'd that work out for us?" It was Scott speaking now, his rough whisper carrying from a few cells along.

"Lay off it," Carole snapped. "Remus, how'd they get you? In court it sounded like you'd got it sorted."

"They were always gunna get 'im," said Hart, whose cell was opposite Remus'. He thought he could see the faintest gleam of Hart's eyes in the meagre moonlight that fell through a single high, barred window. "Worked for _him_, din' you, Lupin?"

Remus knew exactly to whom Hart was referring, and it wasn't Voldemort. No, when werewolves said it more often than not they meant Greyback.

"He wasn't really working for him," came Carole's voice. "Don't be stupid, Hart."

"He don' need you defendin' him," snarled Hart. Remus could definitely see him now, pressed forward against the spell-proofed bars, teeth glinting in the dimness. "Let 'im tell us 'imself."

Before Remus could respond, however, even that last vestige of light was smothered as a thick darkness fell around them.

"Fuckin' hell," he heard Scott say, weakly. Beside Scott he thought he could hear Reinhold, screaming. _Not again. Not again. _Remus closed his eyes, for it made no difference now to have them open. The familiar chill was descending around them, caressing their skin, lovingly seeking out their bones. And now that sound––the slow, long rattling…

Happiness…a happy thought…

A happiness he had never felt before in his life––he found it again, held on to it for dear life…how he'd felt that night, what the boggart had meant, the fire that had torn straight through him upon that first touch of her lips.

He held on, his skin frozen, his insides burning. He held on until the guards departed, sweeping out between the cells. But they never did go very far.

* * *

"Kingsley is recuperating well. And you know elections are coming up."

It was lunchtime at the Ministry and Harry was sitting on the edge of Phemea's desk, eating one of the sandwiches he'd brought for their lunch. Ron was with his dad, perhaps with Kingsley at St. Mungo's this very moment.

Hermione's sandwiches sat untouched on her desk. She picked at the crumbs that had fallen onto the napkin. "It's hard to believe the elections will make any difference."

Harry exhaled, audibly, and she felt his eyes on her. "Short of war," he said, "They're the _only_ things that make a difference."

"You've seen what the Ministry's like," she retorted, a little too forcefully. "Who are we meant to elect? The wizard who thinks werewolves should be rounded up into prison? Or the witch who sooner burn them at the stake?"

"I know it seems as if they're all like that at the moment," said Harry after a while. "But there's far more who won't stand for things like the Act, Hermione, even if they're frightened of werewolves."

He could not convince her. At the end of the lunch hour Harry left, after extracting a promise from her that she would be at the next meeting of the Order no matter what. He'd scarcely left when Phemea entered the office, back from the field visit she'd been assigned to.

Phemea wasted no time in beginning.

"It's not right, what they're doing. I meant it before, you know. I can't work for a Ministry where this sort of thing passes for the law."

"So quit," said Hermione, thinking of Harry stopping her, her insides seized with an abrupt twist of anger.

"I can't stand by and watch," Phemea pressed on, as though she had not heard, or as though she'd made up her mind what would be said and would not relent until she had said it. "I expect you won't, either. You've educated me, the fool I was. How many more minds we could change."

And despite the turmoil in her stomach, despite her best efforts not to be roused from her fatalism, Hermione found something inside her stirring. If Phemea would help…

They had a figurehead: Kingsley. They had a path: the election. Suddenly, nothing seemed simpler.


	26. Umbridge's Reprieve

**Chapter 26: Umbridge's Reprieve**

A/N: The end is in sight! By which I mean, I may actually complete this story in the next few weeks. Hurray! Thanks to everyone who's following along.

* * *

The way forward was simple, but it certainly was not easy.

Hermione knew this as she sat in the dining room at Grimmauld Place, listening to Percy Weasley outlining the strategy for the campaign to elect Kingsley as Minister for Magic. Kingsley himself sat with them around the table, freshly discharged from St. Mungo's. He looked healthy, and exuded his customary air of calm confidence.

After Percy had finished speaking he rejoined them at the dining table. Kingsley paused for a moment before he looked around the table, his level gaze resting briefly on each of their faces.

"This will be hard." Kingsley did not rise, but he looked at each of them as he spoke. "As hard as the war, for all that there is less violence."

He stood, now, and made his way to the front of the room. He went on:

"The campaign may have my name on it, but as we all know, I alone would accomplish nothing. It is not enough to elect a Minister. There are many other places to think of. Ministry officials and Wizengamot members to persuade, appoint, and replace."

He paused, and Hermione, remembering, spoke up: "Half the Wizengamot membership will be up for replacement come late December. Whoever is elected Minister will have great say in those appointments."

"That is quite right, Hermione."

As the others joined with their own remarks, Hermione drank it all in, the suggestions, the conversations, the plans. She felt flushed and a little breathless. There was such energy in the room, and more energy within her than she'd felt since Remus had been taken. This campaign had been only abstract until tonight. Now it felt real, tangible, _achievable_.

Hermione stayed behind after the meeting, until only Kingsley, McGonagall, Molly, Arthur, and Percy remained. She moved to join them at the end of the table, a request upon her lips.

"Tell me what I can do," she said. "I haven't read up much on campaigns recently but I can learn quickly. Just tell me what to do."

Instead of laying out her role, however, Kingsley and McGonagall exchanged a glance. Hermione looked between them. But it was Molly who spoke.

"Of course you'll be part of this, Hermione. But––it must be thought of that––you too are at risk under the DMCSA."

"That's right," Kingsley said. "We wouldn't want to put you at risk, Hermione."

She stared between them all in disbelief. There was a pained expression on Arthur's face and Percy was examining the table. "It's not a problem," she said. McGonagall opened her mouth; Hermione pressed on. "They detained Remus because of––because they suspected impropriety on his part. They haven't the grounds to detain me."

"I'm afraid this Ministry has never been very concerned about adequate grounds. Should you become troublesome, they will––"

"It's a risk I'll have to take," she said, stubbornly. "I can't stand by and watch. I _can't_."

The campaign would be a short and brutal one: they had only four weeks before the election on December 5th. Hermione discovered that countless districts of wizarding England had been mechanically re-electing the same wizards and witches every year. Well, they spoke of districts; the actual turnout of voters each year was abysmal. As a child she'd heard her parents' friends lament the voting turnout in the muggle world, but the apathy in the wizarding world was even worse. It was odd, considering how much smaller the magical community was. Or perhaps it wasn't all that odd, considering how dispersed wizards and witches were across the country, and considering the relative independence from government granted by magic.

Those in the Order and their allies travelled wizarding England, travelling from door to door, fireplace to fireplace. It was frustrating how much of time had to be spent battling the Ministry's decades of propaganda, and the centuries-old prejudice against werewolves and their ilk. They were fortunate to have Phemea on their side, for she knew well the fears of others, being a recent convert herself. And of course it helped that they had Harry Potter, and Kingsley, with all the renown and experience between the two. It helped, too, Hermione thought, that Remus was who he was: calm, cool-headed, kind-hearted, when it would have been more understandable for him to write off the society that had treated him so poorly.

"Eat," said Ron to her at a campaign meeting toward the latter third of November. She refused; her hands were full, her heart and her mind too full with hope and fear.

"_Eat_," Harry agreed, taking sheaves of ink-filled parchment from her. Ginny had charmed a plate of sandwiches to nudge repeatedly at her hands, alternating exasperatingly between left and right.

"I don't want to not do enough," Hermione tried to explain as she attempted to fend off the sandwiches. "We've so few days left…"

Eventually, when the sandwiches began individual endeavours to crawl up her sleeves, she relented and took a bite. She thought of Remus as she ate; she thought of him constantly. She thought of the dementors that must constantly surround him, of the full moon that had just passed, one the detained werewolves had certainly endured without wolfsbane. All this was for him; for society, but in particular for him. They had to elect Kingsley…put an end to the Act…appoint to the Wizengamot those who understood…

But before any of this could happen, the situation became a crisis.

* * *

"If I could kill 'em all," Hart spat, an ugly look on his face, "I would. They deserve it."

"They come soon," came Scott's voice from his cell. "Wouldn't mind having this cage slip open…get my teeth on their neck…"

Remus stared up at the ceiling overhead, unseeing. Yes, it would be nice to hurt Umbridge, to hurt Rand. They would not be merciful to him; there was no favour to return, only a lifetime of bad blood.

There was a loud clanging toward the end of the cells, and he knew the door was opening. He could hear the approaching babble of what sounded like six or seven people. Flashes of light, faint at first, grew stronger, accompanied by thickening wisps of smoke. Now Remus could hear a familiar, high, and breathless voice:

"Oh, wonderful. I can see the creatures are kept separately and quite securely."

There was another flash of light, and Remus heard a wizard ask,

"When will the trials take place?"

"Quite soon, I expect," came the voice of Nyrian Rand. Their footsteps were drawing nearer to Remus' cell. Across from him he could see the look of murder on Hart's face. He wondered if he looked as haggard as Hart did, as wild and unkempt, as dangerous.

Remus stood as the group finally stopped in front of his cell. Rand gave him a look of great distaste, seeming especially displeased to find him standing. A camera-wielding witch turned and clicked, the flash and puff of smoke momentarily blinding. He counted three or four journalists, two clutching cameras, accompanying Umbridge, Rand, and two other Ministry officials.

"Remus Lupin," said Umbridge aside to one of the reporters, softly. "One of our most dangerous and depraved detainees. He worked with Fenrir Greyback during the war."

Remus did not say anything. He knew any defense would not be reported. It was pointless to grow angry.

Umbridge opened her mouth again, a smug, simpering expression crossing her features, when––

There was a deafening crash at the end of the row of cells. The reporters gasped; the witch seemed to try for a photo of whatever it was that had happened. There was a streak of grey, and then something or someone had launched itself at Umbridge and Rand.

In the commotion Remus realised that, somehow, Reinhold and Scott had been _freed_ – their cells open, the two throwing themselves into the fray. He saw then that the streak of grey had been Wade, and he understood: Wade was making his rescue attempt, right here, right now.

Both hope and a terrible cramp of despair seized his gut. Hope, that they might escape; despair, that this could come to no good.

Umbridge, Rand, and the two junior Ministry officials had their wands out at once and were doing their best to incapacitate the attacking werewolves. The close distance was working to the advantage of the werewolves, who were more easily able to avoid wandtips, to grab wrists and force hands away.

"Expulso!" screamed Rand, throwing out his wand wildly just as Scott tackled him. The ensuing explosion sent Reinhold sprawling across the stone floor. Rand's wand flew out of his hand as he too hit the floor under Scott's weight. The wand rolled to a stop several inches from Remus' cell. Without hesitation, he thrust his fingers through the bars and willed it to come––_accio––_it came, and he raised it automatically, eyes following the action––

Two dementors had joined the skirmish, though whether or not they were under the Ministry's command he was not sure. The familiar chill descended over his skin. He watched Rand struggling with Scott, their moves growing sluggish as one of the dementors drew near them. Only one of the junior Ministry officials remained. Remus watched her cast a _stupefy_ at Reinhold, who fell once again to the ground.

That left Umbridge, who had managed to drive Wade back against a wall. Even as Remus turned his gaze to her, Umbridge brandished her wand at Wade and hissed: "_Crucio!_"

A jet of light hit Wade in the stomach and he doubled over immediately, letting out a bone-chilling scream. Something brutal and base twisted in Remus' stomach. Fighting both the feeling and the chill of the dementors, he aimed at the snarling witch. "_Expelliarmus!_"

The spell was weaker than it would have been from his own wand, and weaker than if he had been at full strength rather than imprisoned with dementors for weeks, but it sufficed: Umbridge's wand slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor several feet away, ending Wade's torture. "_Incarcerous_." Ropes shot from the tip of Rand's wand, missing Umbridge's torso but tangling around her legs. As Umbridge fell, Remus saw that Wade was recovering, shaking but no longer in pain.

"Wade," Remus said. He had too many questions. What was the plan from here? How had Wade freed Scott and Reinhold? "Relashio," he added, sharply, when Umbridge tried to reach for her wand. She recoiled from the spell, abhorrence seething across her entire face.

Remus fought the urge to do to her what she had done to Wade seconds earlier. But even as he thought this, the pervading coldness began to insinuate itself deeper under his skin. He learned the cause when he saw the second dementor glide by his cell. Remus watched it turn to Wade; his grip on Rand's wand tightened and he raised it, ready. But the dementor turned away to Umbridge. As if in slow motion he watched it bend, slowly; it lifted its rotting grey hands almost tenderly to its hood; he could see the terror in Umbridge's bulging eyes as it lowered its face to hers, closer…

"_Expecto patronum_."

He heard himself whisper the words. The patronus was corporeal; he hadn't the strength at that moment to avoid it. The silvery wolf burst from the tip of the borrowed wand. It blazed through the air, driving the dementor back from Umbridge, circling around to drive off the other dementor from Scott, who had been subdued by Rand.

There was a moment of silence. Remus could feel his heart thudding in his throat. The wolf loped back toward him, stopping to regard him a foot from his cell.

"Remus," croaked Wade.

But they all heard another crash as the door to the cellblock burst open once more. Ministry witches and wizards flooded in, several bearing Auror badges. The silvery wolf vanished as Scott and Reinhold and Wade were hit with stunning spells. It was all ending as he had feared. Wade must have attempted the rescue because he saw no end in sight to the detention. It had been brave, but it was a fool's errand.

"_Disarm that werewolf_," Rand was snarling at an Auror. Remus did not fight it; he felt the wand slip from his fingers. Umbridge was being helped up. She looked ill, her pouchy face pale, her gaze sweeping past Remus without attention as a wizard supported her out.

"You just wait," said Rand to them all before he left, his voice trembling with a cold fury. "You will all pay for this."


End file.
